air  i 


CO 


s 


THE 


VOICE  OF  FLOWERS. 


MRS.  L.  H.  SIGOURNEY. 


"  Bring  flowers — bright  flowers." 

Mrs.  Hemctns* 


FOURTH    EDITION. 

HARTFORD: 
H.  S.  PARSONS    AND    CO. 

1817. 


En'emI  ajccoVdfiig  to  &.e£of  Cqns^eSs/.'n'the  year  1845,  by 

H.     S.    PARSONS     &,    CO., 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 


Stereotyped  by 

RICHARD      H.    HOBBS, 
Hartford,  Conn. 


INDEX. 


Page. 
FLOWERS, 5 

The  Winter  Hyacinth, 7 

He  told  his  love  in  flowers, 9 

The  Disobedient  Pansy, 12 

The  Lobelia  Cardinalis, 14 

The  White  Lily, 17 

Flora's  Party, 18 

The  Tulip  and  Eglantine, 29 

The  Blossom  and  the  P>eautiful, 30 

The  Snow-Drop, 32 

The  Cactus  Speciosissimus,       33 

The  Dahlia  and  Verbena, 35 

The  Desert  Flower, 37 

Minerva's  Prize, 39 

King  Frost  and  the  Garden  Beauties,     ....  42 

Transplanted  Flowers, 45 

Wild  Flowers  gathered  for  a  Sick  Friend,  ...  47 

Gossip  with  a  Spring  Bouquet, 48 

The  Hollyhock  and  her  Visitor, 53 

The  Evening  Primrose, 56 

The  Constant  Friends, 57 

The  Tears  of  April, 59 

Planting  Geranium  and  Box  on  the  Grave  of  an 
Aged  Friend,        .    .     . 60 


M100476 


iV  INDEX. 

Page. 

Forgotten  Flowers.    To  a  Bride, 64 

Circle  of  Friends  compared  to  Flowers,    ...    66 

Blossoms  falling  from  Fruit-trees, 74 

The  Willow,  Poppy,  and  Violet, 76 

The  Early  Frost, 79 

The  Stranger's  Flower 85 

The  Lily's  Whisper, 87 

Planting  Flowers  on  the  Grave  of  Parents,    .    .    89 

Alpine  Flowers, 92 

The  Rose-Geranium,  companion  of  a  voyage, .     94 

The  Emigrant  Daisy, 95 

The  Travelled  Flower, 97 

Spring  Blossoms  to  the  Mourner, 101 

The  Hare-Bell 103 

Evening  Flowers, 104 

The  Garden  and  the  Rain, 106 

Changes  during  Sickness, 110 

Misletoe  at  the  Tomb  of  Washington,    ...     113 

Ministry  of  Flowers, 115 

The  Winter  Bouquet, 119 

Farewell  to  Flowers, 321 

Glossary, 125 


THE  VOICE  OF  FLOWERS. 


FLOWERS. 

SWEET  playmates  of  life's  earliest  hours  ! 

They  ne'er  upbraid  the  child, 
Who,  in  the  wantonness  of  mirth, 

Uproots  them  on  the  wild  ; 
And  when  the  botanist,  his  shaft, 

With  cruel  skill,  doth  ply, 
Reproachless  'neath  the  fatal  wound, 

Martyrs  to  science  die. 

Wreathed  brightly  mid  the  locks  of  youth, 

They  come  to  beauty's  aid, 
And  in  this  ministry  of  love 

All  un reluctant  fade  ; 
To  grace  the  bridal  and  the  feast, 

From  sun  and  shower,  they  bring 
Such  robes  of  glorious  tint,  as  sham'd 

Judea's  gorgeous  king. 


\H   i  YOiCfc    OF1  FLOW^flS. 

-  Anci  when  the  fallen  meet  the  scorn 

Of  man's  disdainful  eye, 
They  smile  amid  his  path  of  thorn 

With  sweet  and  pitying  sigh  ; 
And  to  the  brow  of  guilt  and  care, 

The  heart  by  anguish  riven, 
Still  point,  with  angel-finger,  where 

The  sinner  is  forgiven. 

They  shrink  not  in  our  ghastly  shroud 

Their  sad  abode  to  take, 
And  keep  their  vigil  o'er  the  tomb, 

When  all  beside  forsake  ; 
Down  in  their  own  dark  sleep  of  death 

They  sink  at  wintry  hour, 
But  in  new  glory  rise  to  show 

The  soul's  immortal  dower. 

Oh !  sharers  in  our  time  of  joy, 

And  weepers  in  our  woe, 
We  bless  ye, — children  of  the  sky, 

That  by  the  wayside  grow  ; 
That  to  the  cottage  eaves  go  up, 

Or  wreathe  the  courtly  hall, 
Still,  like  the  Power  who  call'd  ye  forth, 

Dispensing  love  to  all. 


THE    WINTER    HYACINTH. 


THE     WINTER     HYACINTH. 

How  beautiful  thou  art,  my  winter  flower ! 
Day  after  day  thy  mesh  of  slender  roots, 
That  mid  the  water  wrought  their  busy  wav, 
I  Ve  watch'd  intently  through  the  chrystal  vase 
That  deck'd  my  mantel-piece. 

Then,  bursting  forth, 

Came  leaves,  and  swelling  buds,  and  floral  bells, 
Replete  with   fragrance:   while  thy  graceful 

form, 

Fair  Hyacinth,  attracted  every  eye, 
And  many  a  phrase  of  admiration  woke, 
As  from  a  lover's  lip  ; — while  unto  me 
Thou  wert  as  a  companion,  skill'd  to  smile 
All  loneliness  away. 

But  now — alas  ! 

I  mark  the  plague-spot  stealing  o'er  thy  brow, 
And  know  that  thou  must  die. 

In  thy  brief  space, 

Say — did  thine  inmost  soul  remember  Him 
Of  whom  thy  rare  and  pencill'd  beauty  spake 
So  tenderly  to  us  ?     And  was  thy  breath 
A  pure  and  sweet  ascription  to  His  praise  ? 
We  trust  it  was  ;  forthose  who  teach  of  heaven 
Should  have  its  spirit  too. 


8  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Yet,  if  like  us, 

Poor  erring  ones,  thou  e'er  didst  leave  undone 
What 't  was  the  duty  of  thy  life  to  do, 
Haste,  and  repent  thee  !  for  the  time  is  short — 
The  Spoiler  cometh ! 

Drooping  on  the  stem, 
Methought  it  meekly  folded  its  faint  leaves 
For  the  last,  voiceless  prayer ;  while  unto  me 
A  gush  of  fragrance  was  its  benison. 

At  morn  I  came.     No  more  its  bosom  glow'd ; 
A  heavy  sleep  hung  o'er  its  leaden  eyes, — 
And  dews  like  funeral  tears. 

Oh,  Friend !  whose  gift 
Was  the  dark  bulb  that  veil'd  this  glorious 

flower, 

And  unto  whom,  in  gratitude,  I  turn'd, 
As  its  rich  charms  develop'd — come 'with  me, 
And  let  us  gather  from  its  wither'd  lips 
Some  lingering  sigh  of  wisdom. 

If  we  blend 

True  love  to  God  with  every  kindly  deed 
Unto  our  fellow  man,  and  steadfast  stand 
At  duty's  post,  still  inly  bow'd,  as  those 
Who  feel  the  time  is  short — may  we  not  wait 
For  sleep's  last  angel,  full  of  placid  trust, 
Like  this  sweet,  folded  flower  ? 


HE   TOLD   HIS   LOVE    IN   FLOWERS. 


HE     TOLD     HIS     LOVE     IN 
FLOWERS. 

I  'LL  tell  thee  a  story,  friend, 

Here,  under  this  shady  tree  ; 
If  thou  'It  keep  it  close  in  thy  faithful  breast, 

I  '11  whisper  the  whole  to  thee 

I  had  a  lover  once, 

In  my  early,  sunny  hours  ; 
A  fair  and  fanciful  youth  was  he, 

And  he  told  his  love  in  flowers. 

I  remember  its  waking  sigh  ; — 

We  roam'd  in  a  verdant  spot, 
And  he  cull'd  for  me  a  cluster  bright 

Of  the  purple  "  Forget  me  not." 

But  I  was  a  giddy  girl, 

So  I  toss'd  it  soon  away, 
Gathering  the  dandelion  buds, 

And  the  wild-grape's  gadding  spray. 


10  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

He  mark'd  their  blended  hues 

With  sad,  reproachful  eye — 
For  one  was  the  symbol  of  thoughtless  mirth, 

And  one  of  coquetry. 

Yet  he  would  not  be  baffled  thus — 
So  he  brought  for  my  chrystal  vase 

The  Rose-geranium's  tender  bloom, 
And  the  blushing  Hawthorn's  grace. 

And  a  brilliant  and  fresh  bouquet 
Of  the  rich  Moss-rose  he  bore, 

Whose  eloquent  buds  with  dew-drops  pearl'd, 
Were  full  of  the  heart's  deep  lore. 

I  could  not  refuse  the  gift, 

Though  I  knew  the  spell  it  wove  ; — 
But  I  gave  him  back  a  snow-white  bud  : 

"  Too  young — too  young  to  love." 

Then  he  proffer'd  a  myrtle  wreath, 

With  damask  roses  fair, 
And  took  the  liberty — only  think  ! 

To  bind  it  round  my  hair. 

And  he  prest  in  my  yielding  hand 

The  Everlasting  Pea, 
Whose  questioning  lip  of  perfume  breath'd, 

"  Oh,  say,  wilt  thou  go  with  me?" 


HE    TOLD    HIS    LOVE    IN    FLOWERS.      11 

Yet  we  were  but  children  still, 

And  our  love,  tho'  it  seem'd  so  sweet, 

Was  well  express'd  by  the  types  it  bore, 
For  it  pass'd  away  as  fleet. 

Tho'  he  brought  me  the  Laurel  leaf, 

That  changes  but  to  die, 
And  the  Primrose  pale,  and  Amaranth, 

Yet  what  did  it  signify  ? 

For  over  his  vaunted  love 

Suspicion's  mood  had  power — • 

So  I  put  a  French  Marigold  in  his  hat, 
That  gaudy  and  jealous  flower. 

But  his  rootless  passion  shrank, 

Like  Jonah's  gourd,  away, 
'Till  the  cold  Chrysanthemum  best  reveal'd 

The  blight  of  its  quick  decay. 

And  he  sail'd  o'er  the  faithless  sea 
To  a  brighter  clime  than  ours  : — 

So  it  faded  away,  that  fickle  love, 
Like  its  alphabet  of  flowers. 


12  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


THE     DISOBEDIENT     PANSY. 

A  PANSY  had  many  little  ones.  She  talked 
much  with  them — daily  instructing  them,  and 
set  them  a  good  example  of  sweet  temper  and 
humility. 

She  said  often  to  them,  "  As  soon  as  the 
great  sun  sinks  away  from  you,  and  you  feel 
the  cool,  fresh  dews,  compose  yourself  to  rest. 
Look  up  smilingly,  and  breathe  one  sweet 
breath  to  Him  who  giveth  the  sun-beam,  and 
the  drops  of  dew. 

When  you  have  offered  this,  (the  prayer  of  all 
good  flowers,)  fold  your  leaves,  and  bend  your 
heads  in  sleep,  for  He  will  take  care  of  you. 
The  buds  that  thus  early  and  piously  go  to  rest, 
will  flourish  and  be  pleasing  in  His  sight." 

So  her  children  obeyed  her,  all  except  one. 
This  young  pansy  grew  on  rather  a  longer. 
stalk  than  the  others  ;  and  it  said,  "  I  wonder 
why  my  mother  is  thus  always  lecturing  us  ?" 

"  I  think  I  know  as  much  as  she.  I  do  not 
like  to  go  so  early  to  bed.  I  have  heard  that 
those  who  have  genius  are  always  brightest 
when  it  is  late.  I  wish  to  see  how  the  world 
looks  at  midnight." 

So  she  omitted  her  prayers,  and  strained  hex 


THE    DISOBEDIENT    PANSY.  13 

eyes  open  as  wide  as  she  could.  Her  brothers 
and  sisters  were  quietly  sleeping  around  her, 
and  she  laughed  at  what  she  called  their  stu 
pidity. 

By  and  by  she  began  to  grow  tired,  when 
suddenly  a  huge  black  spider  seized  her  in  his 
claws.  She  cried  out  in  terror,  but  no  one 
was  awake  to  hear  her. 

He  held  her  so  tight  that  she  could  scarcely 
breathe,  and  tears  stood  in  her  large,  dark  eyes. 
In  the  gray  dawn  he  spun  a  web  over  her  face, 
and  fastened  it  to  a  neighboring  shrub. 

Her  mother  awoke  early,  and  lamented  over 
her ;  "  Oh,  my  poor  daughter,  would  that  I 
could  help  you !  Perhaps  He,  to  whom  you 
forgot  to  pray,  who  is  so  good  to  all,  may  yet 
cause  these  chains  to  fall  from  you." 

Bitterly  did  the  young  pansy  deplore  her 
disobedience.  Her  fright,  and  the  spider's 
cords,  with  their  tight  lacing,  had  so  com 
pressed  her  heart  and  lungs,  that  she  turned 
pale,  and  panted  for  breath. 

When  the  noon-day  sun  beat  fiercely  upon 
her,  she  drooped  and  faded  away — saying,  with 
her  last,  faint  sigh,  "  Oh !  brothers  and  sisters, 
take  warning  by  my  sad  fate.  Never  disobey 
our  dear  mother,  for  she  is  wiser  than  we." 


14  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


THE     LOBELIA     CARDINALIS. 

"  CULL  me  a  flower,"  the  Indian  maid 

Unto  her  lover  sigh'd — 
"  Such  as  thy  noble  spirit  deems 

Fit  for  thy  chosen  bride. 

"  And  I  will  wear  it  on  my  brow 

When  from  this  home  I  part, 
And  enter  to  thy  forest  bower, 

Thy  true  love  in  my  heart." 

With  meek  intent,  and  searching  glance, 
The  chieftain  pac'd  the  sod — 

Who,  with  Acteon's  haughty  stride, 
Had  erst  that  region  trod. 

Not  now,  to  rouse  the  slumbering  deer, 

Or  scathe  the  eagle's  throne, 
Thro'  those  secluded  shades  he  roam'd — 

His  heart  was  love's  alone. 

He  cut  the  rich,  wild  rose,  that  still 

A  lingering  radiance  cast — 
Yet  soon  its  falling  petals  told 

Its  day  of  pride  was  past. 


THE    LOBELIA    CARDINALIS.  15 

He  pluck'd  the  iris,  deeply  blue, 

The  amaryllis,  bright, 
And  stor'd  their  treasures  through  the  day, 

But  cast  them  forth  at  night. 

He  bound  the  water-lily  white, 

Amid  her  lustrous  hair, 
But  found  her  black  and  flashing  eye 

Requir'd  a  gem  more  rare. 

At  length,  beside  its  mantling  pool, 

Majestic  and  serene, 
He  saw  the  proud  Lobelia  tower 

In  beauty,  like  a  queen. 

That  eve,  the  maiden's  ebon  locks 

ReveaFd  its  glowing  power, 
Amid  the  simple,  nuptial  rites 

That  grac'd  the  chieftain's  bower. 

But  she,  who,  by  that  stately  flower, 

Her  lover's  preference  knew, 
Was  doom'd,  alas  !  in  youthful  bloom, 

To  share  its  frailty,  too ; 

For  ere  again  its  scarlet  spire 

Rejoic'd  in  summer's  eye, 
She  droop'd  amid  her  forest  home — 

Her  fount  of  life  was  dry. 


16  VOICE    OP   FLOWERS. 

Then,  as  the  ebbing  pulse  declin'd, 

Forth  from  her  sacred  nook, 
With  swimming  eye,  and  trembling  hand, 

Her  bridal  wreath  she  took, 

And  bound  its  wither'd  floral  bells 

Around  her  temples  pale, 
And  faintly  to  her  maidens  spake — 

For  breath  began  to  fail : — 

"  Should  the  last  death-pang  shake  me  sore, 
(For  on  they  come  with  power,) 

Press  closer  in  my  ice-cold  hand 
My  husband's  token-flower; 

And  rear  the  turf-mound  broad  and  high 

To  span  my  lonely  grave, 
That  nought  may  sever  from  my  locks 

The  gift  of  love  he  gave — 

So,  when  the  dance  of  souls  goes  forth 

Athwart  the  starry  plain, 
He  '11  know  me  by  his  chosen  flower, 

And  I  '11  be  his  again." 


THE    WHITE    LILY.  17 

THE     WHITE     LILY. 

TO    A    YOUNG    LADY. 

WITH  its  pure  and  stainless  breast, 

See  the  graceful  Lily  rise, 
Bearing  on  its  snowy  vest 

Pearly  dew-drops  from  the  skies. 

Emblem  of  the  youthful  mind — 
Fresh  from  Nature's  pencil  bright, 

And  by  Heaven's  own  smile  refm'd 
For  unfading  realms  of  light. 

Fair  One — may  thy  life  below, 
Like  that  peaceful  flow'ret  prove, 

And  thy  spirit's  fragrance  flow 
O'er  the  fervent  heart  of  love. 

Of  thyself  forgetful  still, 

All  who  dwell  around  thee  bless, 
Heedful  of  thy  Maker's  will, 

Beautiful  in  lowliness. 

Long  may  faithful  Memory  dwell 
On  thy  virtues  fond  and  true, 

And  Affection's  tablet  tell 

Where  the  stainless  Lily  grew. 


18  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


FLORA    S     PARTY. 

LADY  FLORA  gave  cards  for  a  party  at  tea, 
To  flowers,  buds,  and  blossoms  of  ev'ry  degree ; 
So  from  town  and  from  country  they  thronged 

at  the  call, 
And  strove,  by  their  charms,  to  embellish  the 

hall. 

First  flock'd  the  exotics,  with  ornaments  rare, 
The  tall  Oleander  and  Heliotrope  fair ; 
Camella,  resplendent  with  jewels  new  set, 
And  changeful  Hydrangia,  the  heartless   co 
quette. 

The  Tulips  came  flaunting  in  gaudy  array, 
With  Hyacinths,  bright  as  the  eye  of  the  day ; 
Dandy  Coxcombs  and  Daffodils,  proudly  polite, 
With  their  dazzling  red  vests,  and  their  corsets 

laced  tight ; 

While  the  Soldiers  in  Green,  cavalierly  at 
tired, 

Were  all  by  the  ladies  extremely  admired  ; 
But  the  beautiful  Lily,  with  bosom  of  snow, 
Complain'd  that  those  officers  star'd  at  her  so, 
She  was  strangely  confus'd,  and  would  like  to 

be  told 

What  they  saw  in  her  manners  that  made  them 
so  bold. 


FLORA'S  PARTY.  19 

There  were  Myrtles  and  Roses  from  garden 

and  plain, 
And  Venus's  Fly  Trap,  they  brought  in  their 

train ; 
So  the  beaux  cluster'd  round  them,  they  hardly 

knew  why, 
At  each  smile  of  the  lip,  or  each  glance  of  the 

eye. 
Madame  Damask  a  robe  had  from  Paris  brought 

out, 

The  envy  of  all  who  attended  the  rout ; 
Its  drapery  was  folded,  her  form  to  adorn, 
And  clasp'd  at  the  breast  with  a  diamond-set 

thorn. 
Yet  she,  quite  unconscious,  't  would  seem,  of 

the  grace 
That  enchanted  all  groups  who  frequented  the 

place, 
Introduced,  with  the  sweetest  of  words  in  her 

mouth, 
The  young  Multiflora,  —  her  guest  from  the 

South. 
Neighbor  Cinnamon  prated  of  household  and 

care, — 
How  she  seldom  went  out,  even  to  breathe  the 

fresh  air ; 


20  VOICE    OF   FLOWERS. 

There  were  so  many  young  ones  and  servants 

to  stray, 
And  the  thorns  grew  so  fast  if  her  eye  was 

away  : 
"  Cousin  Moss-Rose,"  she   said,   "  you  who 

live  like  a  queen, 
And  ne'er  wet  your  lingers,  scarce  know  wrhat 

I  mean." 

So  that  notable  lady  went  on  with  her  lay, 
'Till  the   auditors  yawned,  and  stole  softly 

away. 

The  sweet  Misses  Woodbine,  from  country 

and  town, 
With  their  brother-in-law,  Colonel  Trumpet, 

came  down ; 
And  Lupine,  whose  azure  eye  sparkled  with 

dew, 
On   Amaranth  leaned,    the    unchanging    and 

true ; 

While  modest  Clematis  appeared  as  a  bride, 
And  her  husband,  the  Lilac,  ne'er  moved  from 

her  side — 
Tho'  the  Dahlias  all  giggled,  and  said,  "  'Twas 

a  shame 
For  a  young  married  chit,  such  attention  to 

claim ; 


FLORA'S  PARTY.  21 

They  had  travell'd  enough,  in  all  conscience, 

to  tell 
What  the   ton  was  abroad,  where  the  great 

people  dwell, 

But  were  ne'er  at  a  ball,  or  soiree  in  their  life, 
Where   a  city-bred  gentleman  spoke  to  his 

wife." 

Mrs.  Piony  came  in,  quite  late,  in  a  heat, 

With  the  Ice -plant,  new-spangled  from  fore 
head  to  feet, 

Lobelia,  attired  like  a  queen  in  her  pride, 

And  the  Larkspurs,  with  trimmings  new  fur 
bished  and  dyed, 

And  the  Blue-bells  and  Hare-bells  in  simple 
array, 

With  all  their  Scotch  cousins,  from  highland 
and  brae. 

Acacias  and  Marigolds  clustered  together, 

And  gossiped  of  scandal,  the  news,  and  wea 
ther, 

What  dresses  were  worn  at  the  wedding  so 
fine 

Of  Counsellor  Thistle,  and  fair  Columbine  ; 

Of  the  loves  of  Sweet- William,  and  Lily,  the 
prude, 

'Till  the  clamors  of  Babel  again  seem'd  re 
newed. 


22  VOICE    OF   FLOWERS. 

In  a  little  snug  nook  sate  the  Jessamine  pale, 
And  that  pure,  fragrant  Lily,  the  gem  of  the 

vale  ; 
The    meek    Mountain-Daisy,    with    delicate 

crest, 
And  the  Violet,  whose  eye  told  the  Heaven  in 

her  breast ; 
While  allur'd  to  their  side,  were  the  wise  ones, 

who  bow'd 
To  that  virtue  which  seeks  not  the  praise  of 

the  crowd. 
But  the  proud  Crown  Imperial,  who  wept  in 

her  heart 

That  modesty  gained  of  such  homage  a  part, 
Looked   haughtily    down    on   their   innocent 

mein, 
And  spread  out  her  gown,  that  they  might  not 

be  seen. 

The  bright  Lady-slippers,  and   Sweet-briars 

agreed 
With  their  slim  cousin  Aspens  a  measure  to 

lead; 
And  sweet  't  was  to  see  their  light  footsteps 

advance, 
Like  the  wing  of  the  breeze,  thro'  the  maze 

of  the  dance ; 


FLORA'S  PARTY.  23 

But  the   Monk's-hood  scowPd  dark,  and   in 

utterance  low, 
Declared  "  't  was  high  time  for  good  Christians 

to  go ;" 

He  'd  heard  from  the  pulpit  a  sermon  sublime, 
Where  't  was  proved  from  the  Vulgate — "  To 

dance  was  a  crime." 

So,  wrapping  a  cowl  round  his  cynical  head, 
He  snatch'd   from  the  side-board    a  bumper, 

and  fled. 

A  song  was  desired,  but  each  musical  flower 

Had  "  taken  a  cold,  and  't  was  out  of  her 
power ;" 

'Till  sufficiently  urged,  they  burst  forth  in  a 
strain 

Of  quavers  and  trills,  that  astonished  the  tram. 

Mimosa  sat  shrinking,  and  said,  with  a  sigh, 

"'Twas  so  fine,  she  was  ready  with  rapture, 
to  die  ;" 

And  Cactus,  the  grammar-school  tutor,  de 
clared 

"It  might  be  with  the  gamut  of  Orpheus  com 
pared." 

But  Night-shade,  the  metaphysician,  com 
plained 

That  "  the  nerves  of  his  ears  were  excessively 
pained ; 


24  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

'T  was  but  seldom  he  crept  from  the  college," 

he  said, 
"And  he  wished  himself  safe  in  his  study,  or 

bed." 

Lady  Flora,  't  was  thought,  had  a  taste  for 

design, 

And  her  skill  in  embroidery  all  felt  to  be  fine  ; 
So  the  best  of  her  pictures,  for  tinting  and 

shade, 

Were  all  on  this  pleasant  occasion  displayed. 
Her  visitors  vied  in  expressions  of  praise, 
And   exhausted    the    store-house   of   elegant 

phrase  ; 
Tho'  some  grave  connoisseurs  in  a  circle  must 

draw, 
Their  acuteness  to  show  by  detecting  a  flaw. 

Miss  Carnation  took  her  eye-glass  from  her 

waist, 

And  pronounc'd  they  were   scarce  in  good- 
keeping,  or  taste, 
While  prim  Fleur  de  lis  in  her  robe  of  French 

silk, 

And  magnificent  Calla,  with  mantle  like  milk, 
Of  the  Louvre  recited  a  wonderful  tale, 
And  how  "  Guido's  rich  tints  made  dame  Na 
ture  look  pale." 


FLORA'S    PARTY.  !flf 

Signer  Snow-Ball  assented,  and  ventured  to 

add 
An  opinion,  that  "  all  Nature's  coloring  was 

bad  ;"— 
He  had  thought  so,  e'er  since  a  short  period  he 

spent, 
To  muse  on  the  paintings   of  Rome,  as  he 

went 

To  visit  his  friend  Rhododendron,  who  chose 
An  abode  on  the  Alps,  in  a  palace  of  snows. 
But  he  took,  on  Mont  Blanc,  a  most  terrible 

chill, 
And  since  his  return  had  been  pallid  and  ill. 

Half-wither'd  Miss  Hackrnetack  studied  her 


And  hop'd  with  her  cousins,  the  Spruces,  to 

pass ; 

But  Ivy,  the  sage  antiquarian,  who  knew 
Every  cycle,  'twas  said,  that  Chronology  drew, 
Thro'  his  near-sighted  optics,  descrying  her 

late, 

Discompos'd  her,  by  asking  some  aid  in  a  date  ; 
So  she  pouted  her  lip*,  and  said,  tartly,  with 

scorn, 
She    "  could  not  remember  before   she   was 

born." 


26  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Old  Jonquil,  the  crooked-back'd  beau,  had  been 

told, 
That  a  tax  would  be  laid  on  old  bachelors' 

gold, 
So  he  lac'd  down  his  hump,  pre-determined  to 

try 

The  long  disus'd  weapons  of  Cupid,  so  sly, 
Sought  out  half  open'd  buds  in  their  infantine 

years, 
And  ogled  them  all,  till  they  blushed  to  their 

ears. 

Philosopher  Sage,  on  a  sofa  was  prosing, 
With  good  Dr.  Chamomile  quietly  dozing, 
Though  the  Laurel  descanted,  with  eloquent 

breath, 

Of  heroes  and  battles,  of  victory  and  death ; 
Of  the  conquests  of  Greece,  and  Bozzaris,  the 

brave, — 
"  He  had  trod  in  his  footsteps,  and  sigh'd  o'er 

his  grave." 

Farmer  Sunflower  stood  near,  entertaining  a 

guest, 
With  the  crops  he  had  rais'd,  and  the  cheeses 

he  prest ; 


FLORA'S  PARTY.  27 

For  the  true-hearted  soul  deem'd  a  weather- 
stained  face, 

Or  a  toil-harden'd  hand,  were  no  marks  of  dis 
grace. 

Then  he  beckon'd  his  nieces  to  rise  from  their 
seat, 

The  plump  Dandelion,  and  Butter-cup  neat, 

And  bade  them  to  "  pack  up  their  duds,  and 
away, 

He  believ'd  in  his  heart  'twas  the  break  of 
the  day. 

"  And  high  time  it  is,  for  good  people,"  said 
he, 

"  At  home,  and  in  bed,  with  their  households 
to  be." 

'Twas  indeed  very  late, — and  the  coaches 
were  brought, 

For  the  grave  matron  flowers  of  their  nur 
series  thought ; 

The  lustre  was  dimmed  of  each  drapery  rare, 

And  the  lucid  young  brows  looked  beclouded 
with  care ; 

All,  save  the  bright  Cereus, — that  nymph  so 
divine, 

Who  preferr'd  through  the  curtains  of  midnight 
to  shine : 


28  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Now  with  congees,  and  curtseys,  they  moved 

to  the  door, 
But  the  White  Poppy  nodded  ere  parting  was 

o'er, 

For  Night  her  last  candle  was  snuffing  away, 
And  Flora  grew  tired,  though  she  begged  them 

to  stay ; 
Exclaimed,  "  all  the  watches  and  clocks  were 

too  fast, 
And  old  Time  fled  in  spite,  lest  her  pleasure 

should  last." 

Yet  when  the   last  guest  went,  with  daugh 
ter  and  wife, 
She  vowed  she  "  was  never  so  glad  in  her 

life  ;" 
Called  out  to  her  maids,  who  with  weariness 

wept, 
To  "  wash  all  the  glasses  and  cups  ere  they 

slept, 
For  Aurora,  that  pimp,  with  her  broad  staring 

eye, 
Would  be  pleas'd,  in  her  house,  some  disorder 

to  spy." — 
Then  drank  some  pure  honey-dew,  fresh  from 

the  lawn, 
And  with  Zephyrons  hastened  to  sleep  until 

dawn. 


THE   TULIP   AND   EGLANTINE.  29 


THE  TULIP  AND  EGLAN 
TINE. 

THE  Tulip  called  to  the  Eglantine  ; 

"  Good  neighbor,  I  hope  you  see 
How  the  throngs  that  visit  the  garden  come 

To  pay  their  respects  to  me. 

"  The  florist  admires  my  elegant  robe, 

And  praises  its  rainbow  ray, 
Till  it  seoms  as  if,  through  his  raptured  eyes 

He  was  gazing  his  soul  away." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  the  Eglantine ; 

"  In  a  humble  nook  I  dwell, 
And  what  is  passing  among  the  great, 

I  cannot  know  so  well. 

But  they  speak  of  me,  as  the  flower  of  love, 
And  that  low,  whispered  name, 

Is  dearer  to  me,  and  my  infant  buds, 
Than  the  loudest  breath  of  fame." 


30  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


THE  BLOSSOM  AND  THE 
BEAUTIFUL. 


To  a  bright  bud,  with  heart  of  flame, 
The  angel  of  the  seasons  came, 
Took  its  close-shrouding  hood  away, 
And  rais'd  its  forehead  to  the  day, — 
And  from  its  blushing  depths  updrew 
A  stream  of  incense,  fresh  as  dew. 

He  kiss'd  its  cheek,  and  went  his  way, 
And  then  a  form,  with  temples  grey, 
Crept  to  its  side,  and  taught  it  how 
To  shrink,  to  shrivel,  and  to  bow, — 
On  the  cold  earth  its  lip  to  lay, 
And  mix  with  fair  things  pass'd  away. 

Thus,  to  a  maid,  in  beauty's  spring, 
Love's  angel  came,  on  radiant  wing, 
Nerv'd  the  light  foot  to  skim  the  plain, 
And  made  the  voice  a  music  strain, — 
And  wreath'd  his  cestus  round  her  breast, 
Till  every  eye  her  power  confest. 


THE   BLOSSOM    AND   THE    BEAUTIFUL.   31 

A  ghastly  shade,  with  lifted  dart. 
Strode  to  her  couch,  and  chill'd  her  heart. 
Pale  grew  the  brow,  which  roses  fir'd ; 
And  the  soft  breath  in  sighs  expir'd : 
Yet  that  which  bound  her  to  the  sky 
Escap'd  his  shaft     It  could  not  die. 


32  VOICE   OF    FLOWERS. 

THE     SNOW     DROP. 

A  Dedication  for  an  Annual  with  that  title. 

WHEN  infant  Spring,  with  a  glance  of  fear, 
Doth  tread  in  the  steps  of  the  Winter  drear, 
And  beckon  the  streams  on  the  frosted  plains 
To  loosen  the  links  of  their  icy  chains, 
Ere  yet  the  Violet  hath  dar'd  to  show 
Its  timid  head  through  the  wasting  snow, 
While  Tulip  and  Dahlia  on  couches  deep, 
In  their  bulbous  night-caps,  are  fast  asleep, 
Like  beauties  fatigued  at  the  midnight  rout, 
Who  shut  the  sun,  with  their  curtains,  out, — 
At  the  earliest  call  of  the  blue-bird  sweet, 
I  venture  forth  through  the  mist  and  sleet, 
And  haste  to  bring,  with  my  simple  cheer, 
The  first  glad  wish  of  the  new  born  year. 
But  now  from  Autumn,  a  boon  I  bear, 
Of  varied  tint,  and  a  perfume  rare, — 
Taste  hath  wander'd  through  grove  and  bower, 
The  bird  to  win,  and  to  cull  the  flower, 
And  to  gather  them  close  in  a  charmed  ring, 
And  to  bind  them  fast  with  a  silken  string  ; 
Friendship  doth  offer  the  gift  to  thee, — 
Pure  and  warm  may  its  guerdon  be. 


THE    CACTUS    SPECIOSISSIMUS.  33 


THE     CACTUS     SPECIOSIS 
SIMUS. 

WHO  hung  thy  beauty  on  such  rugged  stalk, 
Thou  glorious  flower  ? 

Who  poured  the  richest  hues, 
In  varying  radiance,  o'er  thine  ample  brow, 
And,  like  a  mesh,  those  tissued  stamens  laid 
Upon  thy  crimson  lip  ? 

Thou  glorious  flower ! 
Methinks  it  were  no  sin  to  worship  thee, 
Such  passport  hast  thou  from  thy  Maker's 

hand, 

To  thrill  the  soul.    Lone,  on  thy  leafless  stem, 
Thou  bidd'st  the  queenly  rose,  with  all  her 

buds, 

Do  homage,  and  the  greenhouse  peerage  bow 
Their  rainbow  coronets. 

Hast  thou  no  thought  ? 
No  intellectual  life  ?  thou  who  can'st  wake 
Man's  heart  to  such  communings  ?  no  sweet 

word 
With  which  to  answer  him  ?   'T  would  almost 

seem 


34  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

That  so  much  beauty  needs  must  have  a  soul, 
And  that  such  form  as  tints  the  gazer's  dream, 
Held  higher  spirit  than  the  common  clod 
On  which  we  tread. 

Yet  while  we  muse,  a  blight 
Steals   o'er  thee,   and   thy   shrinking  bosom 

shows 

The  mournful  symptoms  of  a  wan  disease. — 
I  will  not  stay  to  see  thy  beauty  fade. 

Still  must  I  bear  away  within  my  heart 

Thy  lesson  of  our  own  mortality  ; 
The  fearful  withering  of  each  blossomed  bough 
On  which  we  lean,  of  every  bud  we  fain 
Would  hide  within  our  bosoms  from  the  touch 
Of  the  destroyer. 

So  instruct  us,  Lord  ! 

Thou  Father  of  the  sunbeam  and  the  soul, 
Even  by  the  simple  sermon  of  a  flower, 
To  cling  to  Thee. 


THE  DAHLIA  AND  VERBENA.     35 


THE    DAHLIA    AND   VERBENA. 


A  TALL  and  richly  drest  Dahlia  boasted.  She 
lifted  up  her  head  haughtily,  as  though  she  felt 
herself  a  queen.  Her  lips  moved,  and  she  was 
heard  thus  to  soliloquize  : — 

"  I  alone,  of  all  the  flowers  around,  am  truly 
beautiful.  Which  of  them  can  compare  with 
me,  in  elegance  of  dress,  or  dignity  of  deport 
ment? 

Yet  I  suffer  for  want  of  society.  I  cannot 
associate  with  those  around,  who  are  destitute 
of  my  accomplishments. 

Here  is  an  insipid  Verbena  at  my  feet,  al 
ways  trying  to  be  sociable.  She  is  so  ill-bred 
as  to  smile,  when  I  meet  her  eye,  as  if  she 
were  an  acknowledged  acquaintance. 

It  is  in  vain  that  I  strive  to  convince  her  of 
her  vulgarity.  I  cannot  even  look  down  with 
out  seeing  her.  I  wish  she  would  move  away, 
and  give  place  to  some  neighbor,  more  proper 
for  one  of  my  rank. 

I  doubt  whether  she  even  knows  that  my 
name  is  Lady  Liverpool.  I  will  throw  her 


36  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

a  withering  frown,  and  see  if  it  is  not  possible 
to  repel  her  advances." 

That  night  there  came  an  early  frost.  The 
splendid  robes  of  the  Dahlia  were  ruined  by 
its  chilling  touch.  She  hung  her  head  in  bit 
terness,  and  was  ashamed  to  be  seen. 

But  the  little  pale-cheeked  Verbena,  whom 
she  had  so  long  despised,  looked  meekly  up, 
and  spoke  kind  and  cheering  words.  It  had 
been  sheltered  from  the  frost  by  the  drapery 
of  its  proud  neighbor. 

Forgetting  the  disdainful  demeanor  of  the 
Dahlia,  it  tenderly  ministered  to  its  sorrows, 
and  sent  up  its  sweetest  perfumes,  to  cheer 
her,  like  a  cloud  of  incense. 

And  as  I  bent  down,  admiring  its  sympathy, 
there  seemed  to  come  from  its  meek  example, 
a  gentle  voice,  "  Go  thou  and  do  likewise." 


THE    DESERT   FLOWER.  37 


THE     DESERT    FLOWER. 

A  WEARY  course  the  traveller  held, 

As  on  with  footstep  lone, 
By  scientific  zeal  impelled, 

He  tracked  the  torrid  zone. 

Sad  thought  was  with  his  native  glades, 

His  father's  pleasant  halls, 
Where  darkly  peer,  through  woven  shades, 

The  abbey's  ivied  walls. 

Yet  to  the  far  horizon's  bound, 
Far  as  the  glance  could  sweep, 

The  sandy  desert  spread  around, 
Like  one  vast,  waveless  deep. 

What  saw  he  'mid  that  dreary  scene, 

To  wake  his  rapture  wild  ? 
A  flower  !  A  flower  !  with  glorious  mien, 

Like  some  bright  rainbow's  child. 


38  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Kneeling,  he  clasped  it  to  his  breast, 
He  praised  its  wondrous  birth, 

Fair,  fragile,  beautiful,  and  blest, 
The  poetry  of  earth. 

No  secret  fountain  through  its  veins 

Sustaining  vigor  threw, 
No  dew  refreshed  those  arid  plains, 

Yet  there  the  stranger  grew. 

It  seemed  as  if  some  tender  friend, 

Beloved  in  childhood's  day, 
A  murmur  through  those  leaves  did  send, 

A  smile  to  cheer  his  way  ; 

And  fervently  a  prayer  for  those, 

In  his  own  distant  bower, 
Like  incense  from  his  heart  uprose, 

Beside  that  Desert  Flower. 


For  thus  do  Nature's  hallowed  charms 
Man's  softened  soul  inspire, 

As  to  the  infant  in  her  arms, 
The  mother  points  its  sire. 


MINERVA'S  PRIZE.  39 


MINERVA    S     PRIZE. 


MINERVA,  a  visit  to  Flora  once  made, 
When  the  flowers,  in  a  body,  their  compliments 

paid, 
And,  charmed  with  their  manners,  and  elegant 

dyes, 

Desired  she  might  give  to  the  fairest  a  prize  • 
Appointing  a  day,  when  herself  should  preside, 
And  on  their  pretensions  to  beauty  decide. 

Then  the  Rose  bridled  up,  with  a  confident 

air, 

As  if  she  would  say, —  Who  with  me  shall  com 
pare  ? 

While  the  Lily,  but  newly  come  out  as  a  bride, 
Whisper'd  low  to  her  sisters,  and  laugh'd  at 

such  pride. 

The  Hyacinth  studied  her  wardrobe  with  care, 
Still  puzzled  to  settle  what  colors  to  wear ; 
The  Poppy,  ashamed  of  her  dull,  sleepy  eyes, 
Wore  a  new  scarlet  dress,  with  a  view  to  the 
prize. 


40  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Then  flock'd  the  Anemones,  fair  to  behold, 
With  the  rich  Polyanthus,  in  velvet,  and  gold  ; 
And  the  Tulip  came  flaunting,  and  waving  her 

fan, 

And  turned  up  her  nose  at  the  Daffodil  clan. 
The  buds  who  were  thought  by  their  mothers 

too  young, 
Round  their  sister's  toilettes  discontentedly 

hung ; 
There  was  teazing,  and  dressing,  and  prinking 

enough — 
The  pretty  Quill-Daisies  each  bought  a  new 

ruff; 

The  stately  Carnations  stood  frizzing  their  hair, 
And  the  tall  London-pride,  choosing  feathers 

to  wear. 

Tne  Pink  at  her  mirror  was  ready  to  drop, 
And  the  Snow-ball  bought  rouge  at  a  milliner's 

shop; 
While  in  the  same  square,  at  a  shoe-store  so 

neat, 
The  trim  Lady-Slippers  were  pinching  their 

feet. 
Thrifty  Lilac  acknowledg'd  her  robe  was  not 

new, 
But  with   turning  and  furbishing  thought  it 

might  do ; 


MINERVA'S  PRIZE.  41 

While  the  queer  Ragged-Lady,  who  pass'd  for 

a  poet, 
Sat  darning  her  hose,  and  wish'd  no  one  to 

know  it ; 
And  Fox-Glove,  who  sometimes  had  furnished 

a  sonnet, 

Was  tying  new  bows  on  a  fanciful  bonnet. 
The  green-house  exotics,  in  chariots,  went  by, 
For  their  delicate  nerves  feared  each  frown  of 

the  sky, 
While  from  her  low  cottage  of  moss  on  the 

plain, 
The  Violet  look'd  up  and  admired  the  bright 

train, 

Not  thinking  to  join  in  a  circle  so  gay, 
Or  dreaming  that  she  had  a  charm  to  display  ; 
Beside  a  sick  bud  she  preferred  to  attend, 
Which  down  to  the  dust  its  pale  forehead  would 

bend. 

But  judge  how  this  splendid  conventicle  stared, 
When  Minerva  the  prize  to  the  Violet  declar'd  ! 
Remarking,  though  beauties  and  graces  were 

there, 

That  "  Modesty  ever  to  her  was  most  fair." 
And  distinctly  pronounced,  in  the  hearing  of  all, 
That  "the  humble  must  rise,  and  the  arrogant 

fall." 


42  VOICE    OF   FLOWERS. 


KING     FROST,      AND      THE 
GARDEN     BEAUTIES. 

THE  Dahlia  calPd  to  the  Mignionette, 
And  what  do  you  think  she  said  ? 

"  King  Frost  has  been  seen  in  the  vale  below," 
And  she  trembled  and  shook  with  dread. 

"  King  Frost  has  been  seen  in  the  vale  below, 

A  marshalling  forth  his  train — 
Captain  Gladiolus  told  me  so, 

And  brandish'd  his  sword  in  vain." 

Then  the  Snow-Berry  knock'd  at  the  Wood 
bine's  bower, 

Affrighted,  and  out  of  breath : 
"  Pray,  give  me  a  draught  of  water,"  said  she; 

"  I  am  growing  as  pale  as  death." 

"Ah  me  !"  the  gay  Carnation  cried, 

"  The  Rose,  on  her  dying  day, 
Bade  me  prepare  for  this  solemn  hour, 

But  I  've  trifled  my  time  away." 


KING   FROST,    ETC.  43 

The  Poppy  complain'd  that  her  sleep  was  broke 
By  her  neighbor's  noise  and  fright ; 

And  the  Coxcomb  said  "  't  was  a  burning  shame 
To  disturb  a  belle  so  bright." 

Lady  Larkspur  nodded  her  graceful  head, 
And  beckon'd  the  fair  Sweet-Pea, — 

"  Do  you  credit  this  terrible  news,  my  dear  ?" 
" I  think  'tis  but  gossip,"  said  she. 

"Young  Zephyr  was  here,"  said  the  Asters 
proud, 

11  He  made  us  a  morning  call, 
And  if  there  had  been  any  truth  in  the  tale 

He  must  surely  have  known  it  all  : 

"  For  the  daily  papers  he  always  reads, 
As  soon  as  they  come  from  the  press, 

And  if  King  Frost  were  at  any  hotel, 
'T  would  not  be  forgotten,  we  guess." 

"  'T  is  doubtless  a  hoax,"  said  the  Sun-Flower 
tall, 

"  Don't  you  think  that  the  higher  powers 
Would  have  seen  that  I  was  appris'd,  before 

These  pert  little  radical  flowers  ?" 


44  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Yet  still,  Mimosa  was  nervous  and  faint, 

And  Convolvolus  feared  to  stir, 
And  the  Mourning-Widow  wept,  though  long 

The  world  had  been  dark  to  her. 

But  Amaranth  smil'd,  with  a  changeless  eye, 
And  the  Constancy  rose  unbow'd, 

For  a  deathless  spirit  of  hope  was  theirs, 
And  their  trust  was  above  the  cloud. 

That  night,  King  Frost  to  the  garden  came, 

With  all  his  legions  dread, 
And  laid  the  might  of  the  proudest  low, 

And  left  the  fairest  dead. 


TRANSPLANTED    FLOWERS.  45 


TRANSPLANTED     FLOWERS. 

THERE'S  many  a  flower  that  proudly  springs 

Amid  the  gaudy  world's  parterre, 
Caress'd  by  Fashion's  painted  wings, 
To  Folly  dear. 

Whose  flaunting  petals  woo  the  sun, 
Heedless  of  Beauty's  transient  lot, 
But  wither  ere  the  day  is  done, 

Unwept,  forgot. 

Yet  some  there  are  that  bloom  apart, 

With  meekly  consecrated  charm, 
Whose  gifts  of  fragrance  cheer  the  heart 
Like  healing  balm. 

O'er  the  blest  spot,  where  erst  they  grew, 

The  eye  of  Love  its  tears  shall  shed, 
And  Pain  and  Penury  bedew 

Their  funeral  bed. 


46  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

But,  tvath  an  everlasting  beam 

They  smile,  where  no  dark  cloud  descends  ; 
Theirs  wa>  that  hallow'd  incense  stream, 

Which  heavenward  tends. 

Unfading,  lo  !  they  live,  they  bloom — 
Transplanted  by  His  culturing  hand, 
Who  bade  them  seek  beyond  the  tomb 
A  better  land. 


WILD   FLOWERS,  ETC.  47 


WILD     FLOWERS,      GATHERED 
FOR     A     SICK     FRIEND. 

RISE  from  the  dells  where  ye  first  were  born, 
From  the  tangled  beds  of  the  weed  and  thorn  ; 
Rise,  for  the  dews  of  the  morn  are  bright, 
And  haste  away  with  your  eyes  of  light. 
The  greenhouse  princes,  with  gathering  frown, 
On  your  simple  garbs  may  look  haughtily  down, 
Yet  shrink  not — His  finger  your  heads  hath 

bowed, 

Who  heeds  the  lowly,  and  humbles  the  proud. 
The  tardy  spring,  and  the  frosty  sky, 
Have  meted  your  robes  with  a  miser's  eye, 
And  checked  the  blush  of  your  blossoms  free ; 
With  a  gentler  friend  ytmr  home  shall  be, 
To  a  kinder  ear  you  may  tell  your  tale 
Of  the  zephyr's  kiss,  and  the  scented  gale. 
Ye  are  charmed !  ye  are  charmed  !  and  your 

fragrant  sigh 
Is  health  to  the  bosom  on  which  ye  die. 


48  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


GOSSIP     WITH     A     SPRING 
BOUQUET. 

SPEAK,  speak,  sweet  guests. 

Yes,  ope  your  lips  in  words. 
'Tis  my  delight  to  talk  with  you,  and  fain 
I'd  have  an  answer.     I've  been  long  convinced 
You  understand    me,  —  though  you    do    not 

choose 

To  wear  your  bright  thoughts  on  your  finger 
tips, 
For  all  to  sport  with. 

Lily  of  the  Vale, 

And  you,  meek  Violet,  with  your  eyes  of  blue, 
I  call  on  you  the  first, — for  well  I  know 
How  prone  such  village  maidens  are,  to  hide 
Their  clear  good  sense  among  the  city  folks, 
Unless  well  urged,  and  fortified  to  speak. 

—  O  purple  Pansy  !  friend  of  earliest  years, 
You're   always  welcome.     Have  you  never 
heard 


GOSSIP   WITH    A    SPRING   BOUQUET.      49 

From  some  wise  grandame.  of  your  ances 
tors, 

Who  on  the  margin  of  my  native  Thames 
Flourished,  more  vigorous  and  more  fair  than 

you  ? 

'Twas  not  the  fond  garrulity  of  age, 
That  made  her  laud  the  past,  without  respect 
To  verity  ;  for  I  remember  well 
How  beautiful  they  were,  and  with  what  pride 
I  used  to  pluck  them,  when  my  school  was 

o'er, 
And  love  to  place  them,  rich  with  breathing 

sweets, 

Between  my  Bible-leaves,  and  find  them  there 
Month  after  month,  pressing  their  bosoms  close 
To  some  undying  hope. 

Bright  Hyacinth, 
I'm  glad  you've  brought  your  little  ones.     How 

snug 

You  wrap  them  in  their  hoods.  But  still  I  see 
Their  merry  eyes  and  their  plump  cheeks 

peep  out. 

Ah !  here's  the  baby,  in  its  blanket  too  : — 
You're  a  good  mother,  sure.    Don't  be  in  haste 
To  take  their  mantles  off;  the  morn  is  chill; 
I'd  rather  see  them  one  by  one  come  forth, 
I   Just  when  they  please.     A  charming  family  ! 


50  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

And  very  happy  you  must  doubtless  be, 

In  their  sweet  promise,  and  your  matron  care. 

Gay,  graceful  Tulip,  did  you  learn  in  France 
Your  taste  for  dress  ?  and  how  to  hold  your 

head 

So  elegantly  ?     In  the  gale,  yestreen, 
That  o'er  the  parterre  swept  with  sudden  force, 
I  thought  I  saw  you  waltzing.     Have  a  care, 
And  do  not  look  disdainfully  those 
You  call  plebian  flowers,  because,  my  dear, 
We  live  in  a  republic,  where  the  strength 
Comes    from    beneath,   and  many  a   change 

occurs 
To  lop  the  haughty,  and  to  lift  the  low. 

Good  neighbor  Cowslip,  I  have  seen  the  bee 
Whispering  to  you,  and  have  been  told  he 

stays 

Quite  long  and  late,  amid  your  golden  cells. 
It  must  be  business  that  he  comes  upon, 
Matter-of-fact,  he  never  wastes  an  hour. 
Know  you,  that  he's  a  subtle  financier  ? 
And  shows  some  gain  for  every  day  he  spends  ? 
Oh!    learn  from  him  the  priceless  worth  of 

time, 


GOSSIP  WITH   A    SPRING  BOUdUET.      51 

Thou  fair  and  frail !     So  shalt  thou  prove  the 

truth, 

That  he  who  doth  associate  with  the  wise, 
Shall  in  their  wisdom  share. 

Narcissus  pale ! 

Had  you  a  mother,  child,  who  kept  you  close 
Over  your  needle  or  your  music  books  ? 
And  never  bade  you  sweep  a  room,  or  make 
A  pudding  in  the  kitchen  ?     I'm  afraid 
She  shut  you  from  the  air,  and  fervid  sun, 
To  keep  you  delicate,  or  let  you  draw 
Your  corset-lace  too  tight.     I  would  you  were 
As  hardy  as  your  cousin  Daffodil, 
Who  to  the  sharp  wind  turns  her  buxom  cheek 
Unshrinking,  like  a  damsel  taught  to  spin, 
Or  milk  the  cows,  and  knead  the  bread,  and 

lead 

A  useful  life,  her  nerves  by  labor  strung 
To  bear  its  duties  and  its  burdens  too. 

Lilac  of  Persia  !  tell  us  some  fine  tale 
Of  Eastern  lands.     We're  fond  of  travellers. 
Have  you  no  legend  of  some  Sultan  proud  ? 
Or  old  fire-worshipper  ?     Not  e^en  one  note 
Made  on  your  voyage  ?     Well,  'tis  wondrous 

strange, 
That  you  should  let  so  rare  a  chance  slip  by, 


52  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

While  those  who  never  journeyed  half  so  far, 
Fill  sundry  volumes,  and  expect  the  world 
To  reverently  peruse  and  magnify 
What  it  well  knew  before. 

Most  glorious  Rose, 

You  are  the  queenly  belle.     On  you,  all  eyes 
Admiring  turn.     Doubtless  you  might  indite 
Romances  from  your  own  sweet  history. 
They  're  all  the  fashion  now,  and  crowd  the 

page 

Of  many  a  periodical.     Wilt  tell 
None    of   your    heart    adventures  ?      Never 

mind  ! 

All  can  detect  the  zephyr's  stolen  kiss 
In  your  deep  blush  ;   so,  where's  the  use  to 

seal 

Your  lips  so  cunningly,  when  all  the  world 
Call  you  the  flower  of  love  ? 

And  now  good-bye  ; — 
A  pleasant  gossip  have  I  had  with  you, 
Obliging  visitants,  but  must  away 
To  graver  toils.     Still  keep  your  incense  fresh 
And  free  to  rise  to  Him,  who  tints  your  brows, 
Bidding  the  brown  mould,  and  unsightly  stem 
Put  forth  such  blaze  of  beauty,  as  translates 
To  dullest  hearts  His  dialect  of  love. 


HOLLYHOCK  AND    HER    VISITOR.         53 


THE     HOLLYHOCK     AND     HER 
VI  SITOR. 

A  LARGE  bumble-bee  often  visited  a  stately 
hollyhock.  He  lingered  in  the  deep  red  cup 
that  she  made  for  him,  and  talked  busily  with 
her.  The  neighboring  flowers  heard  the  full 
tones  of  his  voice,  but  could  not  distinguish 
his  words. 

At  length,  a  tall  larkspur  bent  her  ear,  and 
listening  closely,  understood  him  to  say,  "  I  am 
very  rich.  I  have  gathered  much  pollen.  I 
store  it  in  a  large  wax  palace,  which  I  shall 
fill  with  honey.  None  of  the  bumble-bees  in 
the  village  can  compare  with  me." 

"  Oh,  it  must  make  you  very  happy,"  an 
swered  the  hollyhock,  "  that  when  any  poor, 
sick  bees  come  and  ask  relief,  you  will  have 
plenty  for  them,  as  well  as  yourself." 

"  1  cannot  undertake  to  feed  them"  he  re 
plied.  "  Every  one  must  provide  for  himself. 
I  worked  hard  to  get  what  is  mine.  Let  others 
go  and  do  the  same." 


54  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

"  But  will  you  be  able  to  use  all  that  you 
have  laid  up  ?  And,  if  not,  what  good  will  it 
do  you  ?"  asked  the  hollyhock,  blushing  more 
brightly  from  the  earnestness  with  which 
she  spoke. 

"  I  never  expect  to  use  half  of  it.,  but  I  do 
not  choose  to  give  it  away.  What  good  will  it 
do  me  to  hoard  it  up,  do  you  ask  1  Why,  don't 
I  hear  people  say,  there  goes  the  rich  bumble 
bee  ?  That  pleases  me." 

"  I  will  tell  you  how  to  get  rich,  too.  Open 
your  leaves  wide  when  the  sun  shines,  and 
gather  all  the  beams  you  can,  and  keep  them 
close  in  your  secret  chamber.  Then,  when 
the  dews  fall,  and  you  have  drank  as  much  as 
possible,  shut  yourself  up,  and  do  not  let  a 
single  drop  escape  on  the  buds  below ;  so  you 
will  be  sure  to  grow  larger  than  they." 

But  the  hollyhock  said,  "  There  is  no  avarice 
among  flowers.  We  take  what  our  Father 
sends,  and  are  glad.  We  do  not  wrinkle  our 
brows  with  care,  or  grow  old  before  our  time." 

The  bumble-bee  drew  nearer  still,  and  said, 
"  You  know  nothing  at  all  about  the  pleasures 
that  wealth  can  bring.  Listen  !  I  think  of 
setting  up  an  equipage.  I  shall  have  two  glow 
worms  for  postillions  ;  you  know  their  lamps 


HOLLYHOCK   AND    HER    VISITOR.         55 

will  cost  me  nothing.  But  you  must  not  breathe 
this,  for  I  have  not  yet  mentioned  it  to  my 
wife." 

The  hollyhock  replied  with  a  clear  voice, 
"  There  is  neither  meum  nor  tuuni  among  the 
flower-people.  We  like  to  share  with  others 
the  good  things  that  come  to  us  from  above. 
It  makes  us  happier  than  to  sound  a  trumpet 
before  us,  and  boast  of  riches  with  which  we 
do  no  good." 

Then  the  large  bumble-bee  seemed  offended 
at  his  friend  the  hollyhock,  and,  buzzing  in  an 
angry  tone,  flew  away. 


56  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


THE     EVENING     PRIMROSE. 


PALE  Primrose  !  lingering  for  the  evening  star 
To  bless  thee  with  its  beam,  like  some  fair 

child, 

Who,  ere  he  rests  on  Morpheus'  downy  car, 
Doth  wait  his  mother's  blessing,  pure  and 

mild, 

To  hallow  his  gay  dream.  His  red  lips  breathe 
The  prompted  prayer,  fast  by  that  parent's 

knee, 
Even   as  thou    rear'st    thy  sweetly   fragrant 

wreath 
To  matron  Evening,  while  she  smiles  on  thee. 

Go  to  thy  rest,  pale  flower  !  The  star  hath  shed 
His  benison  upon  thy  bosom  fair, 

The  dews  of  summer  bathe  thy  pensive  head, 
And  weary  man  forgets  his  daily  care  : 

Sleep  on,  rny  rose  !  till  morning  gilds  the  sky, 

And  bright  Aurora's  kiss  unseals  thy  trembling 
eye. 


THE  CONSTANT  FRIENDS.       57 


THE     CONSTANT     FRIENDS. 


O  SWEET  soul'd  flowers,  with  robes  so  bright 

Fair  guests  of  Eden  birth, 
In  changeful  characters  of  light, 
What  lines  of  love  divine  ye  write 

Upon  this  troubled  earth ! 

Man  sinn'd  in  Paradise,  and  fell — 

But  when  the  storm  arose — 
When  thorns  and  brambles  sow'd  his  path, 
And  gentlest  natures  turn'd  to  wrath, 

Ye  leagued  not  with  his  foes. 

Ye  sinn'd  not,  though  to  him  ye  clung, 

When,  at  the  guarded  door, 
The  penal  sword  its  terrors  flung, 
And  warn'd  him,  with  its  flaming  tongue, 

To  enter  there  no  more. 


58  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Forth  by  his  side  ye  meekly  far'd, 

With  pure,  reproachless  eye, 
And  when  the  vengeful  lion  roar'd, 
A  balmy  gush  of  fragrance  pour'd, 
In  hallow'd  sympathy. 

Ye  sprang  amid  the  broken  sod, 

His  weary  brow  to  kiss  ; 
Bloom'd  at  his  feet  where'er  he  trod, 
And  told  his  burden'd  heart  of  God, 

And  of  a  world  of  bliss. 

Ye  bow'd  the  head,  to  teach  him  how 

He  must  himself  decay  ; 
Yet,  dying,  charged  each  tiny  seed 
The  earliest  call  of  Spring  to  heed, 

And  cheer  his  future  way. 

From  age  to  age,  with  dewy  sigh, 

Even  from  the  desert  glade, 
Sweet  words  ye  whisper,  till  ye  die 
Still  pointing  to  that  cloudless  sky, 
Where  beauty  cannot  fade. 


THE   TEARS    OF   APRIL.  59 


THE     TEARS     OF     APRIL. 

"He  who  goeth  forth  and  weepeth,  bearing  precious  seed, 
shall  doubtless  come  again  with  rejoicing,  bringing  his  sheaves 
with  him." 

QUEEN  of  the  opening  year,  who  weep'st  to 
take 

Thy  slender  sceptre  o'er  a  loyal  clime, 
Fearing  a  lot  of  royalty  must  wake 

The  wrinkle  and  the  thorn  before  their  time; 

Be  firm  and  hopeful !  for  the  sparkling  smile 
Shall  kiss  the  transient  tear-drop  from  thy 
cheek, 

And  in  thy  foot-prints  spring  with  gentlest  wile, 
The  blushing  primrose,  and  the  violet  meek. 

The  snow-drop  pure  shall  don  its  mantle  green, 
And  balmy  skies  awake  their  favoring  ray, 

And  heralds,  bright  with  plumage,  bless  the 

queen, 
Who  joins  a  tender  heart  to  regal  sway. 

So  go  thou  forth,  with  tears,  thy  precious  seed 
Sowing  in  lowly  trust,  for  Joy  shall  crown  the 
deed. 


60  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


PLANTING     GERANIUM    AND     BOX 

ON    THE    GRAVE    OF    AN   AGED    FRIEND.* 

FRAGILE  plant,  of  slender  form, 
Fair,  and  shrinking  from  the  storm, 
Raise  thou  here,  thy  timid  head, 
Bloom  in  this  uncultur'd  bed  : 
Thou,  of  firmer  spirit,  too, 
Stronger  texture,  deeper  hue, 
Dreading  not  the  blasts  that  sweep, 
Rise,  and  guard  its  infant  sleep. 

Fear  ye  not  the  lonely  shade 

Where  the  bones  of  men  are  laid  ; 

Short,  like  yours,  their  transient  date, — 

Keen  hath  been  the  scythe  of  fate. 

Forth,  like  plants,  in  glory  drest, 

They  came  upon  the  green  earth's  breast, 

Spread  forth  their  roots  to  reach  the  stream, — 

Their  blossoms,  toward  the  rising  beam, 


*  This  tribute  to  the  memory  of  a  kind  benefactress  of 
childhood,  though  written  in  early  years,  seemed  not  inappro 
priate  to  the  present  selection. 


PLANTING    GERANIUM,    ETC.  61 

InhaPd  the  morning's  balmy  breath, 

And  sank  at  eve,  in  withering  death. 

Rest  here,  meek  plants,  for  few  intrude 

To  break  this  silent  solitude. 

Yet  should  some  giddy  footstep  tread 

Amid  the  ashes  of  the  dead, 

Still  let  the  hand  of  rashness  spare 

These  tokens  of  affection's  care, 

Nor  pluck  their  cherish'd  buds  that  wave, 

In  sweetness  o'er  a  Christian's  grave. 

—  White  were  the  locks  that  thinly  spread 

Their  silver  o'er  her  honor'd  head, 

And  furrows,  not  to  be  effaced, 

Had  time  amid  her  features  traced, 

Before  my  earliest  strength  I  tried 

In  infant  gambols  by  her  side  ; 

But  yet,  no  grace  or  beauty  rare, 

Were  ever  to  my  eye  so  fair. 

Seven  times  the  sun  with  swift  career, 
Hath  marked  the  circle  of  the  year, 
Since  first  she  pressed  her  lowly  bier  ; 
And  seven  times  sorrowing  have  I  come 
Alone  and  wandering  through  the  gloom, 
To  pour  my  lays  upon  her  tomb ; 
Nor  could  I  bear  to  see  her  bed 
With  brambles  and  with  thorns  o'er  spread. 


62  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Ah  !  surely  round  her  place  of  rest 
I  should  not  let  the  coarse  weed  twine, 
Who  every  path  by  sorrow  prest, 
With  pure  benevolence  hath  blest, 
And  scattered  such  perfumes  on  mine  ; 
It  is  not  meet,  that  she  should  be 
Forgotten,  or  unwept  by  me. 

My  plants,  that  in  your  hallowed  beds, 
Like  strangers,  raise  your  trembling  heads, 
Drink  the  pure  dew  that  evening  sheds, 
And  meet  the  morning's  earliest  ray, 
And  catch  the  sunbeams  when  they  play  ; 
And  if  your  cups  are  filled  with  rain, 
Shed  back  those  drops  in  tears  again  ; 
Or  if  the  gale  that  sweeps  the  heath, 
Too  roughly  o'er  your  leaves  should  breathe, 
Then  sigh  for  her,  and  when  ye  bloom, 
Scatter  your  fragrance  o'er  her  tomb. 

But  should  ye,  smit  with  terror,  cast 
Your  blighted  blossoms  on  the  blast, 
Or  faint  beneath  the  vertic  heat, 
Or  fail  when  wintry  tempests  beat, 
There  is  a  plant  of  deeper  bloom, 
Whose  leaves  shall  deck  this  honor'd  tomb, 
Not  blanch'd  with  frost,  or  parch'd  for  rain, 
Or  by  the  wrath  of  winter  slain, 


PLANTING    GERANIUM,    ETC. 

But  every  morn  its  buds  renewed, 
Are  by  the  tears  of  evening  dewed, 
—  The  deathless  plant  of  gratitude. 


63 


64  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

FORGOTTEN      FLOWERS. 

TO   A   BRIDE.    * 

We  were  left  behind,  but  we  would  not  stay, 
We  found  your  clue,  and  have  kept  the  way, 
For,  sooth  to  say,  the  track  was  plain, 
Of  a  bliss  like  yours  in  a  world  of  pain. 
How  little   we  thought,  when  so  richly  we 

drest, 

To  goto  your  wedding,  and  vie  with  the  best, 
When  we  made  our  toilette  with  such  elegant 

care, 

That  we  might  not  disgrace  an  occasion  so  rare; 
To  be  whirl'd  in  a  coach  at  this  horrible  rate, 
From  county  to  county,  and  State  to  State  ! 
Though  we  travel'd  incog,  yet  we  trembled 

with  fear, 
For  the  accents  of  strangers  fell  hoarse  on  our 

ear. 

•  An  elegant  bouquet,  sent  as  a  nuptial  present,  arrived  just  as 
the  bride  had  taken  her  departure  for  her  new  home  in  a  neigh 
boring  State,  and  were  sent  after  her,  in  the  stage  coach,  and 
reached  her  without  injury,  in  the  depth  of  winter. 


FORGOTTEN    FLOWERS.  65 

We  could  hear  every  word,  as  we  quietly  lay, 
In  the  snug  box  of  tin,  where  they  stow'd  us 

away, 
And  how  would  our  friends  at  a  distance  have 

known, 
If  charm'd  by  our  beauty,  they'd  made  us  their 

own  ? 
All  unus'd  to  the  taverns,  and  roads,  as  we 

were, 

Our  baggage  and  bones  were  a  terrible  care, 
But  we've  scap'd  every  peril,  the  journey  is 

o'er, 
And  hooded  and  cloak'd,  we  are  safe  at  your 

door. 

We  bring  you  a  gift  from  your  native  skies, 
The  chrystal  gem  from  Affection's  eyes, 
Which  tenderly  trickles,  when  dear  ones  part, 
We  have  wrapp'd  it  close  in  the  rose's  heart ; 
We  are  charged  with  a  mother's  benison  kiss  ; 
Will  you  welcome  us  into  your  halls  for  this? 
We  are  chilled  with  the  cold  of  our  wintry 

way, 

Our  message  is  done,  we  must  fade  away, 
Let  us  die  on  your  breast,  and  our  prayer  shall 

be, 
An  Eden's  wreath  for  thy  love  and  thee. 


66  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


COMPARED     TO    FLOWERS. 


Go  seek  the  choicest  sweets  that  Nature  fair 
Hath  kindly  trusted  to  the  culturer's  care, — 
Unfolding  buds,  with  vernal  dew-drops  pure, 
Resplendent  flowers,  that  summer  suns  ma 
ture, 


*At  the  dissolution  of  a  Literary  Society,  whose  members  (nine 
of  each  sex)  were  united  in  friendship  as  well  as  in  intellectual 
pursuit,  it  was  proposed  that  some  emblematic  poem  should 
preserve  the  recollection  of  their  pleasant  intercourse.  Thus 
the  foregoing  poem,  which  has  been  hitherto  unpublished,  was 
called  into  existence  ;  and  a  beautifully  painted  bouquet  was 
also  executed  by  another  member,  in  which  the  eighteen  per 
sonified  flowers  were  tastefully  grouped. 

The  arbitrary  signification  of  the  inmates  of  Flora's  realm 
not  being  as  generally  adopted  at  that  period,  as  now,  the  se 
lections  in  the  foregoing  lines  were  founded  less  upon  those, 
than  upon  some  supposed  resemblance  between  the  flowers  and 
the  character  they  typified.  Now,  at  the  expiration  of  a  quar 
ter  of  a  century,  during  which  the  spoiler  has  not  left  our  cir 
cle  unvisited,  some  of  the  passages  acquire  interest,  as  being 
linked  by  tender  associations  to  the  memory  of  the  departed 
and  beloved. 


CIRCLE  OF   FRIENDS,  ETC.  67 

And  changeless  plants,  whose  firmer  breasts 

defy 
The  frosts  of  autumn,  or  the  wintry  sky. 

Bring  first  the  thornless  Rose,  of  colors  rare, 
Fresh,  bright,  and  graceful,  from  the  florist's 

care, 
That  reared  in  bowers,  where  nought  was  ever 

found 

To  chill,  depress,  contaminate,  or  wound, 
Knows  no  dark  art  to  rouse  the  breath  of  strife, 
And  bears  enchantment  for  the  vale  of  life. 

Mark  well  yon  Lily,  on  its  stately  stem, 
Whose  snowy  leaves  conceal  a  polish'd  gem, 
Thou  may'st  not  miss  it  in  the  loveliest  train, 
Nor  once  beheld,  forget  its  charms  again  ; 
Go,  bow  to  taste  its  fragrance,  and  request 
The  favoring  presence  of  the  cherish'd  guest. 
And  thou,  Mimosa,  dear  and  trembling  flower, 
Come  from  thy  cell,  —  unshrinking  leave  thy 

bower ; 

No  pressure  rude,  thy  folded  buds  shall  harm, 
No  touch  unkind  thy  tender  leaves  alarm ; 
Though  in  the    world's   rough  journey  thou 

may'st  fear 
Unkindred  spirits,  none  shall  meet  thee  here  ; 


DO  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

This  gentle  band  are  form'd  with  thee  to  feel, 
And  well  they  prize  what  thou  would'st  fain 

conceal, 
Come,  loved  and  fearless,  while  our  care  shall 

set 

Fast  by  thy  side,  thy  sister  Violet, 
Still  cheerful,  unobtrusive,  and  serene, 
To  grace  the  high,  or  deck  the  lowly  scene  ; 
High  be  his  bosom  honor'd  who  shall  gain 
This  as  a  solace,  and  a  charm  for  pain. 
The  Woodbine  next,  whose  graceful  tendrils 

twine 

In  sweet  luxuriance  round  the  parent  vine, 
Whose  heaven-born  fragrance  breathes  reviv 
ing  power, 

'Neath  dewy  evening,  or  the  summer  shower, 
Shall  bless  our  wreath,  for  this  can  teach  to 

glow 

The  morn  of  pleasure,  or  the  night  of  woe. 
Thou,  too,  pale  Lily,  leave  thy  native  vale, 
And  yield  thine  essence  to  our  fresher  gale, 
What  though  thy  bending  head  no  gaze  would 

meet, 

Thy  perfume  guides  us  to  thy  green  retreat, 
Where  lingering  zephyrs   round  thee   gently 

sigh, 
And  catch  the  tones  of  music  as  they  fly. 


CIRCLE    OF   FRIENDS,  ETC.  69 

The  orange  Cowslip,  pure  in  heart,  and  gay, 
Bestows  its  beauty  on  our  fair  bouquet, 
Known  by  its  sweetness,   for  its  worth  ap- 

prov'd, 
If  seen,  remember'd,  if  remember'd  lov'd. 

And    there,   "  wee,    modest,    crimson-tipped 

flower," 
Meek  Mountain  Daisy,  pride  of  friendship's 

bower, 

Come  all  unconscious  of  thy  winning  grace, 
And  lend  thy  lusture  to  our  charmed  vase. 

Wilt  thou,  bright  Pink,   all  graceful  as  thou 

art, 

Still  'mid  our  circle  form  a  cherish'd  part  ? 
Or  wouldst  thou  rather,  in  thy  native  glade, 
Reserve  thine  incense  for  the  healer's  aid  ? 

From  beauty's  sheltered  sphere  roam  onward 

wide, 

Invoking  forms  of  loftier  strength  and  pride, 
That  while  the  house-plants  round  the  hearth 

shall  glow, 

As  future  years  the  varied  lot  bestow, 
Perchance  strong  conflict  with  the  storm  may 

wage, 
Or  tower,  the  master  spirits  of  the  age. 


70  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Why  do  we  ask  the  Laurel  here  to  glow  ? 
Is  it  that  fame  or  glory  blind  us  ?     No  ! 
But  that  it  hath  a  spirit  nobly  bold, 
To  bide  the  blast,  or  brave  the  tempest  cold. 
Not  train'd  by  art,  or  nursed  in  idle  ease, 
Or  taught  to  bow  to  what  the  world  shall  please, 
But  independent,  and  to  honor  true, 
Might  guard  the  weak,  and  charm  the  tasteful 
too. 

One,  too,  there  is,  whose  latent  virtues  claim 
Of  constancy,  the  undisputed  name  ; 
Who  seeks,  by  shrinking  in  his  favorite  cell, 
The  applause  to  shun,  that  he  deserves  so  well  ; 
Yet  all  in  vain,  for  few  can  fail  to  prize 
The  hues  that  change  not  with  the  changing 
skies. 

Wilt  thou,   Oh  Sage !    from  cloistered  study 

deign 

To  heed  our  summons,  and  delight  our  train  ? 
"  Cur  moriator  homo,"  *  might  we  say, 
Dum  salvia  crescit  in  horto,"  but  the  lay, 

•  It  would  seem  that  the  ancient  Romans  had  a  high  respect 
for  the  salubrious  properties  of  this  plant,  by  the  interrogative 
adage,  "  Why  need  any  man  die,  who  has  Sage  in  his  gar 
den  ?" 


CIRCLE  OF   FRIENDS,    ETC.  71 

Cramp'd  by  the  unyielding  chains  of  Saxon 

verse, 

Suits  not  the  Roman  proverb,  boldly  terse ; 
Still  more  unworthy  is  this  pencil  faint, 
Thy  many  virtues,  lenient  Sage,  to  paint. 

And  thou,  Geranium,  half  exotic,  say, 

Why  art  thou  from  the  ancestral  halls  away  ? 

Thou  need'st  no  gift  that  nature  did  not  lend, 

Or  art  improve,  or  cultivation  blend : 

Yet  if  ,thou  better  lov'st  a  sunnier  sky, 

Breathe  there  the  fragrance   that  can  never 

die. 

The  meek  Narcissus  next  invites  our  care, 
With  fragile  stalk  and  efflorescence  fair, 
WThich  anxious  friendship  fears  will  scarce  en 
dure 

The  world's  contagion,  with  a  brow  so  pure  ; 
Yet  this,  perchance,  may  bear  the  dangerous 

test, 
For  heaven's  own  spirit  lives  within  its  breast. 

Lure  from  its  home,  'mid  green  Vermonia's 

plain, 

The  English  Holly  to  our  classic  train, 
That  fearless,  firm,  and  scorning  all  disguise, 
Where'er  it  dwells,  points  upward  to  the  skies. 


72  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

The  Lilac,  prompt  to  heed  the  call  of  Spring, 
Shuns  not  the  summons  to  our  magic  ring ; 
We  saw  it  o'er  the  way-side  traveller  cast 
Shade  from  the  heat,  and  covert  from  the  blast, 
Yet  from  the  meed  of  fame  retire,  to  throw 
Its  wealth  of  fragrance  on  the  vale  below. 

And  shall  the  verdant  Myrtle  be  forgot, 
All  unassuming  in  its  shaded  spot  ? 
Perchance  we  may  not  win  its  wreathing  vine 
From  Coke   and   Blackstone,   where  it    fain 

would  twine, 

Yet  might  it  be  persuaded  thus  to  cheer 
The  glowing  circle,  it  were  welcome  here. 

The  varied  Tulip,  versatile  and  gay, 
With  colors  changing  to  the  changing  ray, 
Attracts  the  stranger  by  its  brilliant  dye, 
And  with  rich  tissue  charms  the  studious  eye, 
Yet  better  loves  in  southern  climes  to  bide, 
Than  hear  the  accents  of  our  praise  or  pride. 

Now  bind  the  treasur'd  sweetness. 

Do  you  say 

That  aught  is  wanting  ?  There  are  none  away. 
A    plant    there    is,    indeed,  from    mountains 

lone, 
But  blossom,  flower,  or  fragrance,  it  hath  none ; 


CIRCLE  OF  FRIENDS,   ETC.  73 

Yet  since  ye  call  it  forth,  with  friendship  kind, 
It  hath  a  tendril  round  your  stalks  to  bind, 
A  rustic  shoot,  the  florist  ne'er  could  teach, 
Yet  loves  the  brilliance  it  despairs  to  reach. 


74  VOICE    OF    FLOW  K  us. 


BLOSSOMS     FALLING     FROM 
T  HE      FRUIT-TREES. 

THE  World  doth  take  us  captive  with  its  wiles 
Of  vanity  or  plousure.     So  our  thoughts 
Are  scarce  in  unison  with  Nature's  grief, 
When  her  sweet  blossoms  fade. 

Yon  stricken  trees, 
From  whence  glad  Autumn  gathcreth  plenteous 

store 

Of  niddy  apples  for  the  wintry  eve, 
Resign  their  r.-idinnt  robes,  and  rich  perfume, 
That  made  the  orchard  like  a  queen's  levee, 
And  clad  in  russet  garments,  fleck'd  with  green, 
Lamenting,  teach  the  philosophic  lore 
Of  brief  prosperity. 

That  lofty  pine, 

Which,  like  some  feudal  baron  from  his  tower, 
Did  awe  the  neighboring  peasantry  of  shrubs, 
Deplores  that  they  should  see  his  boasted 

wealth 
Stripp'd  by  each  robber  breeze. 


BLOfifSOMS   PALLING,   ETC.  75 

A  tint  like   snow,  from  the  young  Almond'? 

charms 

Strcw'd  lavishly  around ;  while,  sick  at  heart, 
The  Peach,  despairing  mother,  sees  her  babes 
Dead  at  her  feet. 

Hreuk  forth  in  Hong,  ye  birds, 
From  your  cool  nests,  or  on  the  buoyant  wing, 
And  be  their  comforters. 

Uphold  their  hearts 

With  cheering  descant  of  the  season's  prime, 
When  their  bereavement  shall  be  lost  in  joy. 
Tell  them  that  man,  their  culturer,  oft  beholds 
His  beauty  and  his  pride,  like  theirs,  depart; 
But  yet,  from  what  he  counted  loss,  doth  reap 
A  more  enduring  gain. 

Yea,  bid  them  bide 

In  faith  and  hope,  the  chastening  of  this  hour, 
Yielding  their  fragrance  to  the  tyrant  winds— 
1  or  Ciod  remembereth  them. 

Lift  high  your  strain, 
Minstrels  of  Heaven,  afld  ask  the  sorrowing 

trees 

If  those  pale  petals  fell  not,  where  would  bo 
The  glory  of  their  fruitage  ?  or  the  praise 
Of  the  Great  Master  at  the  Harvest  Day  ? 


76  VOICE    OF   FLOWERS. 


THE     WILLOW,     POPPY,     AND 
VIOLET. 

A  CHILD  held  in  his  hand  a  slight,  leafless 
bough.  It  was  like  a  supple,  green  wand.  But 
it  had  been  newly  cut  from  the  parent  stock, 
and  life  still  stirred  in  its  little  heart. 

He  sought  out  a  sheltered  spot,  and  planted 
it  in  the  moist  earth.  Often  did  he  visit  it,  and 
when  the  rains  of  summer  were  witheld,  he 
watered  it  at  the  cool  sunset. 

The  sap,  which  is  the  blood  of  plants,  began 
to  flow  freely  through  its  tender  vessels.  A 
tiny  root,  like  a  thread,  crept  downwards,  and 
around  the  head  was*  a  bursting  forth  of  faint 
green  leaves. 

Seasons  passed  over  it,  and  it  became  a 
tree.  Its  slender  branches  drooped  downward 
to  the  earth.  The  cheering  sun  smiled  upon 
them — the  happy  birds  sang  to  them — but  they 
drooped  still. 


WILLOW,  POPPY,  AND  VIOLET.    77 

"Tree,  why  art  thou  always  so  sad  and 
drooping  ?  Am  not  I  kind  unto  thee  ?"  But 
it  answered  not — only  as  it  grew  on  it  drooped 
lower  and  lower,  for  it  was  a  weeping  willow. 

The  boy  cast  seed  into  the  soft  garden 
mould.  When  the  time  of  flowers  came,  a 
strong,  budding  stalk  stood  there,  with  coarse, 
serrated  leaves.  Soon  a  full  red  poppy  came 
forth,  glorying  in  its  gaudy  dress.  At  its  feet 
grew  a  purple  violet,  which  no  hand  had 
planted  or  cherished. 

It  lived  lovingly  with  the  mosses,  and  with 
the  frail  flowers  of  the  grass,  not  counting 
itself  more  excellent  than  they. 

"  Large  poppy,  why  dost  thou  spread  out  thy 
scarlet  robe  so  widely,  and  drink  up  all  the 
sunbeams  from  my  lowly  violet?" 

Bat  the  flaunting  flower  replied  not  to  him 
who  planted  it.  It  even  seemed  to  open  its 
rich  silk  mantle  still  more  broadly,  as  though 
it  would  have  stifled  its  humble  neighbors. 
Yet  nothing  hindered  the  fragrance  of  the 
meek  violet. 

The  little  child  was  troubled,  and  at  the 
hour  of  sleep  he  spake  to  his  mother  of  the 
tree  that  continually  wept,  and  of  the  plant 
that  overshadowed  its  neighbor.  So  she  took 


78 


VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


him  on  her  knee,  and  spake  so  tenderly  in  his 
ear,  that  he  remembered  her  words  when  he 
became  a  man. 

"  There  are  some,  who,  like  the  willow, 
are  weepers  all  their  lives  long,  though  they 
dwell  in  pleasant  places,  and  the  fair  skies 
shine  upon  them  in  love.  And  there  are 
others,  who,  like  the  poppy  that  thou  reprov- 
edst,  are  proud  at  heart,  and  despise  the  hum 
ble,  whom  God  regardeth." 

"  Be  thou  not  like  them,  my  gentle  child ; 
but  keep  ever  in  thy  breast  the  sweet  spirit  of 
the  lowly  violet,  that  thou  mayest  come  at  last 
to  that  blessed  place,  which  pride  cannot  enter, 
and  where  the  sound  of  weeping  is  unknown." 


THE    EARLY   FROST.  79 


THE      EARLY      FRO  S  T  , 


MY  flowers, — rny  few  and  precious   flowers, 

what  evil  hath  been  here  ? 
Came  the  fierce  Frost-King  forth  last  night,  so 

secret  and  severe? 
I  saw  you  last  with  diamond  dew  fresh  on 

each  beauteous  head, 
And  little  deem'd  to  find  ye  thus,  all  desolate 

and  dead. 

White  Poppy,  tall  and  full  of  pride,  whose  pe 
tals'  feathery  grace 

With  fully  rounded  orb  has  decked  my  simple 
parlor  vase  ; 

Thy  oozing  buds  disclose  the  gum,  that  swells 
Hygeia's  store, 

But  the  sleep  of  death  is  on  thee  now,  thy 
magic  spell  is  o'er. 


80  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Alas,  my  brave  Crysanthemum,  how  crisp  thou 

art,  and  sere ; 
Thou  wert,  perchance,  too  lightly  prized,  when 

gaudier  friends  were  near  ; 
Yet,  like  a  hero  didst  thou  rise,  to  meet  the 

spoiler's  dart, 
And  battle,  till  the  pure  life-blood  ran  curdling 

round  thy  heart. 

My  poor  Sweet-Pea,  my  constant  friend, 
whene'er  I  sought  in  vain 

To  twine  a  full  bouquet  for  one  who  pressed 
the  couch  of  pain ; 

Or  when  my  garden  sometimes  failed  my  man 
tel-piece  to  dress, 

Thou  always  gav'st  a  hoarded  gem,  to  help  me 
in  distress. 

But  thou,  dear  lonely  Pansy,  thus  smiling  in 
my  path, 

I  marvel  much  how  thou  hast  scap'd  the  ty 
rant's  deadly  wrath ; 

Didst  thou  hide  beneath  thy  neighbor's  robe, 
so  flaunting  and  so  fine, 

To  bid  one  sad  good-morning  more,  and  press 
thy  lips  to  mine  ? 


THE    EARLY   FROST.  81 

Good  bye,  my  pretty  flowering  Bean,  that  with 

a  right  good  will, 
O'er  casement,  arch  and  trellis  went  climbing, 

climbing  still, 
Till  the  stern  destroyer  marked  thee,  and  in 

his  bitter  ire, 
Quenched  out  thy  many  scarlet  spikes  that 

glowed  like  living  fire. 

Pale,  pale  Snowberry,  all  is  gone  ;  I  would  it 
were  not  so, 

Methinks  the  Woodbine  near  thee  hath  felt  a 
lighter  woe  ; 

Lean,  lean  upon  her  sheltering  arm,  thy  latest 
pang  to  take, 

And  yield  to  autumn's  stormy  will,  till  happi 
er  seasons  wake. 

Coarse  Marigold,  in  days  of  yore,  I  scorned  thy 

tawny  face, 
But  since  my  plants  are  frail  and  few,  I've 

gave  thee  welcome  place, 
And  thou,   tall  London-pride !    my  son  from 

weeds  preserved  thy  stem, 
And,  for  his  sake,  I  sigh  to  see  thy  fallen  dia- 

adem. 


82  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

I  have  no  costly  Dahlias,  nor  greenhouse  flow 
ers  to  weep, 

But  I  passed  the  rich  man's  garden,  and  the 
mourning  there  was  deep, 

For  the  crownless  queens,  all  drooping,  hung 
amid  the  wasted  sod, 

Like  Boadicea,  bent  with  shame,  beneath  the 
Roman  rod. 

Tis  hard  to  say  farewell,  my  plants,  'tis  hard 

to  say  farewell ; 
The  florist  might  despise  ye,  yet  your  worth  I 

cannot  tell ; 
For  at  rising  sun,  or  even-tide,  in  sorrow  or  in 

glee, 
Your  fragrant  lips  have  ever  op'd,  to  speak 

good  words  to  me. 

Most  dear  ye  were  to  him  who  died,  when 

summer  round  ye  play'd, 
That  good  old  man,  who  looked  with  love  on 

all  that  God  had  made  ; 
Who,  when  his   first  familiar  friends   sank 

down  in  dreamless  rest, 
Took  nature's  green  and  living  things   more 

closely  to  his  breast. 


THE    EARLY    FROST.  83 

My  blessed  sire,  we  bore  his  chair  at  early 
summer  morn, 

That  he  might  sit  among  your  bowers  and  see 
your  blossoms  born  ; 

While  meek  and  placid  smiles  around  his  rev 
erend  features  played, 

The  language  of  that  better  land,  where  ye  no 
more  shall  fade. 

Shall  I  see  you,  once  again,  sweet  flowers, 

when  Spring  returneth  fair, 
To   strew    her    breathing  incense   upon  the 

balmy  air? 
Will  you  lift  tome  your  infant  heads?     For 

me  with  fragrance  swell? 
Alas  !  why  should  I  ask  you  thus,  what  is  not 

yours  to  tell. 

I  know,  full  well,  before  your  buds  shall  hail 

the  vernal  sky, 
That  many  a  younger,  brighter  brow,  beneath 

the  clods  must  lie  ; 
And  if  my  pillow  should  be  there,  still  come 

in  beauty  free, 
And  show  my  little  ones  the  love  that  you  have 

borne  to  me. 


84 


VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


Yea,  come  in  all  your  glorious  pomp,  ambas 
sadors,  to  show 

The  truth  of  those  eternal  words  that  on  God's 
pages  glow, 

The  bursting  of  the  icy  tomb,  the  rising  of  the 
just 

In  robes  of  beauty  and  of  light,  all  stainless 
from  the  dust. 


THE  STRANGER'S  FLOWER.          85 


THE     STRANGERS     FLOWER. 


In  some  of  the  South  American  republics,  it  was  customary 
for  ladies  to  present  a  flower  to  every  stranger  whom  they  re 
ceived  as  a  guest. 


STRANGER  !  new   flowers  in  these  vales   are 

seen, 

With  a  dazzling  eye,  and  a  fadeless  green, 
They  scent  the  breath  of  the  dewy  morn, 
They  feed  no  worm,  and  they  hide  no  thorn, 
But  revel  and  glow  in  our  balmy  air  ; 
They  are  flowers  that  freedom  hath  planted 

there. 

This  bud  of  welcome  to  thee  we  give  ; 
Bid  its  glowing  blush  in  thy  bosom  live  ; 
It  shall  charm  thee  from  all  a  stranger's  pain, 
Reserve,  suspicion,  and  dark  disdain ; 
A  race  in  its  freshness  and  bloom  are  we, 
Bring  no  cares  from  a  worn  out  world  with 
thee. 


86  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Tis  a  little  time  since  the  lance  and  spear, 
And  the  clamor  of  war  and  death  were  here  ; 
Our  siesta  the  shout  of  the  murderer  broke, 
And  we  struggled  to  rend  a  tyrant's  yoke, 
Till  our  midnight  slumbers  were  pale  with 

fears, 
And  the  fairest  cheeks  bore  a  mourner's  tears. 

But  now  on  the  couch  of  its  mother's  breast, 
The  infant  sleeps  long  in  its  dream  of  rest, 
And  the  lover  beneath  the  evening  star, 
Woos  the  young  maid  with  his  light  guitar ; 
These  are  the  blessings  that  wait  the  free, 
And  stranger  !  this  flower  is  our  gift  to  thee. 


THE  LILY'S  WHISPER.  87 


THE      LILYS      WHISPER, 


"  Bow  down  thy  head,  thou  born  of  clay,- 

Bow  down  thy  head  to  me," 
A  drooping  Lily  seemed  to  say, 
As  sank  the  footsteps  of  the  day, 

Upon  the  grassy  lea. 

Its  dewy  lips  to  mine  I  prest, 

And  drank  its  stifled  sigh, 
A  tear-drop  lay  within  its  breast, — 
"  Hast  thou  a  woe  to  be  confess'd, 

Thou  favorite  of  the  sky  ?" 

"  Two  buds  beside  my  heart  awoke, 

More  pure  than  opening  day, — 
But  lo  !  a  hand  with  sudden  stroke 
From  my  embrace  those  idols  broke, 
And  bore  them  hence  away." 


00  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Still  deeper  seem'd  the  Lily's  tone 

My  listening  ear  to  greet : 
"  Think  not  for  sympathy  alone 
That  thus  to  thee  I  make  my  moan, 

Though  sympathy  is  sweet  ; 

"  No.     Be  my  wound  thy  lesson  made, 

We  love  your  nobler  race, 
Whose  lot  it  is  like  ours  to  fade, 
Like  ours,  to  see  in  darkness  laid 

Your  blossom's  wither'd  grace. 

"  So,  let  the  Will  Supreme  be  blest, 

And  still  with  spirit  meek, 
Shut  rebel  tear-drops  in  your  breast, 
And  wear,  as  badge  of  Heaven's  sweet  rest 

Its  smile  upon  your  cheek." 


PLANTING   FLOWERS.   ETC. 


PLANTING  FLOWERS  ON  THE 
GRAVE  OF  PARENTS. 

I'VE  set  the  flow'rets  where  ye  sleep, 

Father  and  mother  dear  ; 
Their  roots  are  in  the  mould  so  deep, 

Their  bosoms  hide  a  tear ; 
The  chrystal  of  the  dewy  morn 

Their  trembling  casket  fills, 
Mixed  with  that  tear-drop  from  the  heart, 

Which  filial  love  distils. 

Above  thy  pillow,  mother  dear, 

I  've  placed  thy  favorite  flower — 
The  bright-eyed  purple  violet, 

That  deck'd  thy  summer  bower; 
The  fragrant  chamoinile,  that  spreads 

Its  leaflets  fresh  and  green, 
And  richly  broiders  every  niche 

The  velvet  turf  between. 


90  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

I  kissed  the  tender  violet, 

That  droop'd  its  stranger  head, 
And  called  it  blessed,  thus  to  grow 

So  near  my  precious  dead, 
And  when  my  venturous  path  shall  lead 

Across  the  deep  blue  sea, 
I  bade  it  in  its  beauty  rise 

And  guard  that  spot  for  me. 

There  was  no  other  child,  my  dead ! 

This  sacred  task  to  share ; 
Mother !  no  nursling  babe  beside, 

E'er  claim'd  thy  tenderest  care. 
And  father  !  that  endearing  name, 

No  other  lips  than  mine 
E'er  breathed  to  prompt  thy  hallow'd  prayer 

At  morn  or  eve's  decline. 

Pluck  not  those  flowers,  thou  idle  child, 

Pluck  not  the  flowers  that  wave 
In  sweet  and  simple  sanctity 

Around  this  humble  grave, 
Lest  guardian  angels  from  the  skies, 

That  watch  amid  the  gloom, 
Should  dart  reproachful  ire  on  those 

Who  desecrate  the  tomb. 


PLANTING   FLOWERS,    ETC.  91 

Oh,  kindly  spare  my  plants  to  tear, 

Ye  groups  that  wander  nigh, 
When  summer  sunsets  fire  with  gold 

The  glorious  western  sky  : 
So  when  you  slumber  in  the  dust, 

Where  now  your  footsteps  tread, 
May  griev'd  affection  train  the  rose 

Above  your  lowly  bed. 


_J 


92  VOICE    OF   FLOWERS. 


ALPINE     FLOWERS. 


MEEK  dwellers  'mid  yon  terror-stricken  cliffs, 
With  brows  so  pure,  and  incense-breathing 

lips, 
Whence  are  ye  ? 

Did  some  white-wing'd  messenger, 
On  Mercy's  errands,  trust  your  timid  germ 
To  the  cold  cradle  of  eternal  snows  ? 
Or,  breathing  on  the  callous  icicles, 
Bid  them,  with  tear-drops,  nurse  ye  ? 

Tree,  nor  shrub 

Dare  yon  drear  atmosphere.     No  polar  pine 
Uprears  a  veteran  front.     Yet  there  ye  stand, 
Leaning  your  cheeks  against  the  thick-ribb'd 

ice, 

And  looking  up,  with  trustful  eyes,  to  Him 
Who  bids  you  bloom,  unbl'anch'd,  amid  the 

waste 
Of  desolation. 


ALPINE    FLOWERS.  93 

Man,  who  panting  toils 
O'er  slippery  steeps ;  or,  trembling,  treads  the 

verge 
Of  yawning  gulfs,  from  which  the  headlong 

plunge 

Is  to  eternity,  looks  shuddering  up, 
And  marks  ye  in  your  placid  loveliness, 
Fearless,  yet  frail ;    and,  clasping   his   chill 

hands, 

Blesses  your  pencil'd  beauty.     Mid  the  pomp 
Of  mountain-summits,  towering  to  the  skies, 
And  chaining  the  rapt  soul  in  breathless  awe, 
He  bows  to  bind  you  drooping  to  his  breast, 
Inhales  your   fragrance  on   the   frost-wing'd 

gale, 
And  freer  dreams  of  Heaven. 


94  VOIct    OF    FLOWERS. 


THE      ROSE-GERANIUM. 

COMPANION   OP   A   VOYAGE. 

HOLD  up  thy  head,  thou  timid  voyager ! 

Vex'd  by  the  storm-clouds,  as  they  darkly 

roll, 
And  by  the  fiercely  tossing  waves,  that  stir 

Thy  slender  root,  and  try  thy  trembling  soul. 

Sad  change  from  thy  sweet  garden,  where  the 
dew 

Each  morning  glisten'd  in  thy  grateful  eye, 
And  where  no  rougher  guest  thy  bosom  knew, 

Than  quiet  bee,  or  gadding  butterfly. 

It  grieves  me  sore  to  see  thy  leaflets  fade, 
Wearing  the  plague-spot  of  the  ocean  spray, 

And  know  what  trouble  I  for  thee  have  made, 
Who  bore  thee  from  thy  native  haunt  away ; 

Though,  in  thy  life,  I  seem  to  hold  the  chain 

Of  home  and  its  delights,  here  on  the  pathless 
main. 


THE    EMIGRANT    DAISY.  95 


THE     EMIGRANT      DAISY. 

ONCE,  from  its  home  in  England's  *  soil, 

A  daisy's  root  I  drew, 
Amid  whose  moistened  crown  of  leaves 

A  healthful  bud  crept  through, 
And  whispered  in  its  infant  ear 

That  it  should  cross  the  sea, 
A  cherished  emigrant,  and  share 

A  western  home  with  me. 

Methought  it  shrank,  at  first,  and  paled  ; 

But  when  on  ocean's  tide 
Strong  waves  arid  awful  icebergs  frowned. 

And  manly  courage  died, 
It  calmly  reared  its  crested  head 

And  smiled  amid  the  storm, 
As  if  old  Magna  Charta's  soul 

Inspired  its  fragile  form. 


*  This  daisy  was  taken  from  the  spot,  often  visited  by  trav 
ellers,  where  King  John  signed  the  Magna  Charta  in  1215. 


'O  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

So  where  within  my  garden  plat, 

I  sow  the  choicest  seed, 
Amid  my  favorite  shrubs  I  placed 

The  plant  from  Runnimede. 
And  know  not  why  it  may  not  draw 

Sweet  nutriment,  the  same 
As  when  within  that  noble  clime 

From  whence  our  fathers  came. 

Here's  liberty  enough  for  all, 

If  they  but  use  it  well, 
And  Magna  Charta's  spirit  lives 

In  even  the  lowliest  cell, 
And  the  simplest  daisy  may  unfold 

From  scorn  and  danger  freed, 
So  make  yourself  at  home,  my  friend, 

My  flower  from  Runnimede. 


THE   TRAVELLED   FLOWER.  97 


THE    TRAVELLED   FLOWER. 


A  DAISY,  which  once  grew  on  the  banks  of 
the  Thames,  in  England,  had  been  transplant 
ed  and  brought  to  this  country.  It  bore  the 
voyage  well,  and  flourished  in  the  garden 
where  it  was  placed. 

A  Cowslip,  its  nearest  neighbor,  was  very 
kind,  and  if  it  ever  looked  sad,  like  a  stranger, 
cheered  it,  and  spoke  words  of  comfort.  It 
asked  much  of  its  adventures  on  the  ocean, 
and  of  its  native  land.  So  it  told  its  friend  the 
Cowslip,  whatever  it  desired  to  know. 

It  described  the  ship  sailing  quietly  over  the 
great  waters,  and  its  pleasant  intercourse  with 
a  pansy  that  bore  it  company.  "  We  stood 
side  by  side  on  a  shelf,  in  the  room  of  the  per 
son,  with  whom  we  emigrated. 

"The  Pansy  was  blessed  with  a  large  family 


98  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

of  fine  children,  and  I  had  two  promising  in 
fants  when  I  began  the  voyage.  But  they  pin 
ed  for  the  free  air,  and  the  fresh  dews  of  the 
valley  where  they  were  born. 

"I  was  ever  watching  and  nursing  them. 
One  night,  we  were  alarmed  by  great  confu 
sion  and  noise,  and  a  chill  that  struck  us  to  the 
heart.  We  heard  a  cry  of  "  icebergs"  and 
peeping  through  the  window  of  our  state  room, 
saw  monstrous  masses  of  cold  glittering  ice 
floating  around  us. 

"  Then  I  heard  the  Pansy  whispering  to  her 
little  ones,  not  to  be  afraid,  to  die.  But  I  trem 
bled  with  terror.  That  very  night  my  young 
est  darling  died.  And  had  it  not  been  for  the 
care  of  my  other  drooping  babe,  I  think  I  should 
have  died  too. 

"  The  next  day,  they  said  we  were  out  of  dan 
ger,  and  the  keen  wintry  cold  passed  away. 
And  though  we  arrived  safely,  and  I  am  happy  in 
my  new  home,  I  never  can  bear  to  think  of  the 
voyage  where  my  poor  little  one  perished." 

The  kind  neighbor  could  not  help  shiver 
ing  with  sympathy  at  the  tale  of  sorrow.  "  1 
have  heard  people  who  walk  in  the  garden,  call 
you  the  Daisy  of  Runnimede.  What  can  they  j 


THE    TRAVELLED    FLOWER.  99 

mean  by  such  a  hard  name  ?"  asked  the  Cow- 
|   slip. 

"  It  is  a  delightful  green  vale  in  England, 
where,  in  old  times,  a  king  signed  a  paper, 
which  gave  the  people  freedom.  For  that  rea 
son  it  is  visited  as  a  sort  of  sacred  place. 

"  My  birth  there,  was  all  that  gave  me  value 
in  the  eyes  of  my  owner,  and  procured  me  the 
privilege  of  travelling  to  see  distant  lands." — 
Many  things  the  Daisy  related,  so  that  the 
Cowslip,  thus  daily  instructed,  knew  almost 
as  much  of  foreign  countries  as  if  it  had  been 
there. 

A  Dandelion  lived  near,  but  did  not  incline 
to  listen  to  these  adventures.  Indeed,  she 
ridiculed  the  way  in  which  her  neighbors 
spent  so  much  of  their  time,  and  said  for  her 
part,  she  had  something  else  to  do. 

She  thanked  her  stars  she  was  not  a  blue, 
— no !  not  she  !  nor  a  pedant  neither.  The 
vanity  of  those  travelled  people  was  extremely 
ridiculous,  always  talking  about  what  they  had 
seen.  She  laughed  loudly  at  the  Cowslip,  cal- 
ing  her  an  antiquarian,  and  said  she  wondered 
what  good  came  from  being  such  a  deal  wiser 
than  other  people. 


100  TOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

A  Sage-plant,  who  had  cast  off  his  blossoms, 
and  gone  to  seed,  heard  her  flippancy  of  speech 
and  reproved  her.  He  said,  "  knowlege  is 
good  ;  it  teaches  men  how  to  be  useful  to  each 
other,  and  keeps  women  from  too  much  gad 
ding  abroad. 

"  By  knowledge,  my  own  salubrious  proper 
ties  have  been  discovered,  so  that  I  am  not 
cut  down  like  a  common  weed.  Right 
knowledge  teaches  both  men  and  flowers  not 
to  be  slanderous,  for  it  gives  them  higher  and 
better  subjects  of  thought." 

So  the  Dandelion  was  silent  before  the  Sage 
and  ceased  to  laugh  at  those  who  were  wiser 
than  herself.  For  she  had  already  perceived 
that  they  had  some  kind  of  secret  happiness, 
and  took  comfort  when  other  flowers  were  out 
of  spirits,  on  stormy  days,  and  when  no  butter 
flies  visited  them. 


SPR?NG   .Th  CSS'OMS,    .TTC.  -01 


SPRING     BLOSSOMS     TO     THE 
MOURNER. 


THOU  bririgest  violets  in  thy  hand, 
Sweet  Spring.    Thy  gifts  how  vain 

To  soothe  us  for  those  fair,  bl"e  eyes, 
That  ope  no  more  again 

Thou  bringest  music  of  the  birds, 

As  if  such  strain  could  pay 
For  their  melodious  speech,  who  sank 

From  our  lone  bowers  away. 

Thou  showerest  breathing  roses  roun|J, 
To  blush  on  beauty's  breast ; 

Give  back  !  give  back  those  lips  of  rose, 
That  to  our  own  were  prest. 


•  102  V'OLCE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Thou  know'st  to  burst  the  tyrant  gloom 

Of  Winter's  icy  urn ; 
Teach  them  to  break  the  envious  tomb, 

And  to  our  arms  return. 

Thou  canst  not !     To  our  grieving  souls 

Thy  boasted  spell  is  o'er ; 
From  all  thy  gifts  to  those  we  turn, 

Whom  thou  canst  ne'er  restore. 

To  those  o'er  whom  thy  quicken'd  turf, 
With  earliest  snow-drops  grows , 

Yet  fails  to  wake  their  wonted  smile, 
Or  move  their  deep  repose. 

Yes  ;  from  thy  charms  to  Him  we  turn, 
Who  laid  our  treasures  low, 

And,  with  a  Father's  love,  ordains 
Our  discipline  of  woe  : 

We  look  to  that  unsullied  clime, 
Where  storm  shall  never  sweep  ; 

Nor  fickle  Spring  the  heart  beguile, 
Nor  drooping  mourner  weep. 


THE    HARE-BELL.  103 


THE    HARE-BELL; 

A    DEDICATION    FOR    AN    ANNUAL,    WITH 
THAT     TITLE. 

YE  have  seen  me  oft,  'mid  the  summer  day, 
In  my  woodland  home,  with  the  breeze  at  play  ; 
Catching  the  dews  as  they  sparkling  fell, 
And  folding  them  close  in  each  floral  bell ; 
And  teaching  my  buds,  with  a  joyous  ray, 
To  lift  their  blue  eyes  to  the  King  of  Day. 

But  now,  when  the  last  leaf  of  Autumn  is  shed, 
Ye  thought,  no  doubt,  I  was  sere  and  dead  : 
No,  no  !  I  have  baffled  the  Spoiler's  sting, 
Affection's  token  to  you  to  bring. 
I  have  dared  the  wrath  of  the  frosty  sky, 
To  gather  you  blossoms  that  cannot  die. 

Will  ye  welcome  me  in  from  my  toil  and  care, 
For  the  blessings  I  breathe,  and  the  sweets  I 

bear? 

If  ye  give  me  shelter  this  wintry  hour, 
If  ye  make  me  a  guest  at  the  hearth  and  bower, 
You  will  never  regret,  I  am  fain  to  say, 
The  Hare-Bell's  visit,  this  Christmas-day. 


104  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


EVENING     FLOWERS. 

WHEN  shuts  the  rose  at  even  tide, 

The  lily  folds  its  bell, 
And  every  bud  on  vale  or  wild, 

Dream  in  their  hermit  cell. 

Then,  neath  still  twilight,  dim  and  grey, 

Or  where  the  taper  stands, 
Or  meekly  by  the  fireside  ray, 

The  flower  of  heart  expands. 

The  influence  of  this  favoring  hour 

The  watchful  lover  knows, 
And  marks  its  soft  mimosa  leaves 

Their  modest  charms  disclose. 

The  husband  by  its  fragrance  cheer'd, 

Unlocks  the  cares  of  day, 
Which,  neath  the  warm,  confiding  smile, 

Like  shadows,  fleet  away. 


EVENING    FLOWERS.  105 

The  fond  exulting  parent  culls 

Its  blossoms,  rich  and  red, 
And  twines  a  garland  bright  with  hope 

For  each  young  slumberer's  head. 

While  they  who  best  its  root  protect, 
With  thrilling  breast  shall  prove, 

How  the  sweet  charities  of  home 
Fit  for  a  heaven  of  love. 

But  when  this  heart-flower  droops  its  head, 

And  wearied  mortals  ask 
The  deep  repose  that  nightly  fits 

For  morn's  returning  task, 

Up  springs  another  by  its  side, 

With  calm  and  lowly  eye, 
A  seraph-planted  germ  that  holds 

Communion  with  the  sky  : 

The  flower  of  soul!    Its  breath  is  prayer, 

And  fresh  its  balm-drops  flow, 
To  cleanse  the  ills  that  stain'd  the  day, 

And  heal  the  wounds  of  woe. 

While  gently  o'er  its  closing  sigh, 

With  blessed  vision  bends 
That  angel-guarded  sleep,  which  God 

To  his  beloved  sends. 


106  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


THE      GARDEN      AND      THE 
RAIN  . 

ONE  summer  there  had  been  a  long  drought, 
made  more  painful  by  intense  heat.  Young 
trees  drooped ;  many  plants  withered  away  ; 
and  the  newly-mown  grass  crisped  under  the 
feet  as  though  it  would  never  spring  again. 

The  master  of  a  garden  went  forth  at  the  sun 
set  to  water  it.  He  was  grieved  to  see  how 
his  nurslings  suffered.  The  slight  branches 
of  the  fruit-bearing  trees  were  brittle,  and  broke 
at  the  touch  ;  and  the  juiceless  berries,  shrink 
ing  away,  tried  to  hide  behind  their  yellow 
leaves. 

The  cisterns  had  become  low,  and  the  shal 
low  brooklets  were  dry  ;  yet  he  gave  water  to 
all  his  plants,  as  plentifully  as  he  could.  Still 
they  looked  languidly  at  him,  as  if  asking — 
"Can  you  do  nothing  more  to  help  us  ?"  Some 
were  perishing  at  the  root,  for  the  earth  to 
which  they  clung  was  like  powder  and  dust. 


THE  GARDEN  AND  THE  RAIN.    107 

That  night  he  awoke,  and  heard  the  blessed 
rain  falling ;  at  first,  gently,  and  then  with 
power.  He  thanked  the  Merciful  Giver,  and 
remembered  the  words,  "  Can  all  the  vanities 
of  the  heathen  give  rain  ?  or  can  the  heavens 
without  Him,  give  showers?" 

In  the  morning,  when  the  rain  had  ceased, 
he  walked  in  his  garden.  He  rejoiced,  with 
his  plants  and  flowers,  in  the  great  goodness 
of  God.  Their  long  season  of  sorrow  had 
made  them  dearer  to  him,  as  the  parent  loveth 
the  child  who  has  been  sick  with  a  more  ten 
der  love. 

But  now  their  time  of  suffering  was  past. 
The  grape-vine,  having  put  on  beauty  for  ashes, 
wore  at  every  point  of  its  broad  leaves  a 
pearl :  and  the  honey-suckle,  which  was  thought 
to  have  been  dying,  was  heard  teaching  its 
young  tendrils  where  to  twine. 

The  willow,  whose  long  wands  had  turned 
yellow,  from  disease,  was  weeping  for  joy. 
Every  infant  blossom  tried  to  tell  of  its  new 
happiness.  Birds  carolled  from  the  nest,  and 
breathed  into  their  silent  praise  a  living  soul. 

As  he  passed  among  the  shrubbery,  every 
reaching  bough  shed  on  him  a  few  chrystal 
drops.  They  seemed  to  have  saved  for  the 


108  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

master  a  portion  of  what  they  best  loved.  The 
statelier  plants  secreted  a  little  moisture  to 
bestow  upon  the  lowly.  They  had  themselves 
known  want,  and  it  seemed  to  have  made  them 
more  pitiful. 

He  took  in  his  hand  the  long  leaves  of  a 
lily,  which,  the  day  before,  was  ready  to  per 
ish,  and  it  poured  him  one  fragrant  drop  from 
its  cup  of  snow.  And  the  rose-bud  gave  him, 
from  its  heart,  a  chrystal  gem  that  it  had  trea 
sured  there,  saying,  "  Here  !  here  !  take  this, 
thou  who  didst,  minister  unto  me  in  my  need, 
and  when  I  was  thirsty,  give  me  drink." 

A  forget-me-not,  which  he  had  removed  a 
few  days  before,  from  the  dominion  of  a  thorny 
raspberry,  had  reserved  a  little  rain,  to  bestow 
upon  the  grass-cups  at  her  side.  As  he  bent 
over  her,  she  seemed  to  raise  her  blue  eyes 
and  whisper,  "  I  was  in  prison,  and  ye  came 
unto  me  ;  sick,  and  ye  visited  me." 

Then  the  master  of  the  garden  said,  "  Oh ! 
thankless  human  heart,  that  daily  takest  thy 
water,  and  thy  bread,  yet  yieldest  scarcely  one 
smile  unto  God — perchance  art  angry  because 
of  some  smitten  gourd,  or  some  rose-leaf 
doubled  upon  thy  pillow — come  forth,  after  the 
shower  of  summer,  and  be  abased. 


THE    GARDEN   AND   THE    RAIN.          109 

"  See,  every  leaf  and  bud  share  the  pure 
essence  of  their  life  with  all  around.  The 
sigh  of  the  lightest  breeze  wakes  their  charity. 
They  refuse  not,  as  long  as  any  thing  re 
mains  to  give.  Hast  thou  no  surplus  drops  of 
Heaven's  bounty  ?  Hoard  them  not  from  thy 
brother,  the  frail  partaker  of  the  same  clay ; 
but,  instructed  by  the  branches  of  thine  own 
planting,  become  wise  unto  eternal  life." 


110  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


CHANGES    DURING    SICKNESS. 

I  BOW'D  me  down  amid  the  race  of  life, 

And  let  the  fever-spirit  have  its  will. 

With  wrench  and  screw  the  tissued  nerves  it 

tried, 
And  held  from  sleep  the  strained  and  burning 

eye, 

So  that  the  soft-voic'd  watcher's  toil  was  vain. 
Two  weeks  passed  by,  and  then  His  healing 

love, 

Who  knows  the  weakness  of  this  mortal  frame 
Which  He  hath  fashioned,  bade  me  take  my 

place 
Again  among  the  living. 

Strange  and  new 

Seemed  every  wonted  object.     All  around 
Change  had  been  busy.    Boldly  up  had  sprung, 
Even  to  the  eaves,  the  rich  Convolvolus, 
So  long  with  patience  water'd,  even  and  morn. 
Its  clustering  floral  bells,  profoundly  blue, 


CHANGES    DURING   SICKNESS.          Ill 

Or  crimson,  fleck'd  with  white,  thro'  the  broad 

leaves, 

Were  redolent  of  beauty.     So,  methought 
I  'd  close  my  books,  and  study  with  the  flowers, 
Where  sang  the  bee  ;  and  where,  for  aught  I 

knew, 
Might  winged  angels  hover. 

Closely  hid 

In  a  dense  grape-vine,  was  a  cunning  nest, 
Which  oftimes  I  had  visited,  to  strew 
Crumbs    for  the   brooding  mother.     On   that 

morn 
When  fell  disease  stalk'd  near  me  with  his 

chain, 

Intent  to  smite  me,  tho'  I  knew  it  not, 
I  had  withdrawn  those  curtaining  leaves,  and 

met 
Her  clear,  bright  eye. 

Now,  all  were  fled  and  gone ! 
Yes,  those  small  eggs  with  gladness  and  with 

song 

Had  travell'd  forth  to  swell  the  tide  of  love 
That  bathes  Creation  in  its  boundless  sea. 
Oh !  ever-watchful  goodness,  that  doth  work 
Whether  we   sleep,  or,  'neath  the  weight  of 

pain, 
Bow  down  in  dreamy  reverie  ;  while  time, 


112  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Unnoted,  glideth  onwards,   nest  and  flower 
Confess  thee.     Shall  the  thoughtless  human 

heart, 

So  much  indebted,  e'er  thy  praise  forget, 
Whether  beneath  the  sunshine  or  the  cloud, 
It  takes  its  lesson  from  thy  page  divine  ? 


TO    THE    MISLETOE.    ETC.  113 


TO     THE     MISLETOE     AT     THE 
TOMB     OF     WASHINGTON. 


DARK  plant  of  Superstition's  shade, 

Why  lift'st  thou  here  the  cheerless  eye, 
Where  reeks  no  Druid's  purple  blade, 
To  stain  the  Christian's  hallow'd  shade, 
Or  dim  fair  Freedom's  sky  ? 

Sacred  to  orgies  blind  and  base, 
Where  human  blood  was  sternly  spilt, 

How  dar'st  thou  seek  this  holy  place  ? 

Rude  parasite  !  whose  foul  embrace 
Hast  wreath'd  the  murderer's  hilt. 

Where  ancient  Mona's  foliage  wept, 

Or  drear  Stonehenge  was  wrapp'd  in  gloom, 

Thy  earthless  root  had  fitter  crept, 

Thy  mystic  garland  better  slept, 
Than  near  a  Christian  tomb. 


114  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

What  though  in  Maro's  *  fabled  lore, 

To  Troy's  bold  chief  thine  aid  was  lent, 
Who  dauntless  trod  the  infernal  shore, 
Where  sad  and  frowning  shades  of  yore 
Their  date  of  anguish  spent, 

Yet  we,  to  Pluto's  dreary  coast, 

Passport  from  such  as  thee,  disdain ; 
We  seek  our  hero  'mid  the  host, 
Where  wails  no  grim  and  guilty  ghost, 
On  ileaven's  unclouded  plain. 

Lo  !  watchful  o'erjiis  honor'd  clay, 

A  nation  sheds  the  filial  tear  ; 
And  pilgrim's  kneel,  and  patriots  pray, 
And  plants  of  glory  drink  the  day, — 

Why  dost  thou  linger  here  ? 

In  war  the  laurel  wove  his  crest, 
The  olive  deck'd  his  sylvan  dome, 

The  mournful  cypress  marks  his  rest, 

Dark  Misletoe  !  the  Druid's  guest, 
Hence  !  seek  some  fitter  home. 

*  The  Viscum  Album  of  Linnaeus,  or  sacred  misletoe  of  the 
Druids,  is  the  plant  which  was  the  passport  of  ^Eneas  in  his 
descent  to  the  Infernal  Regions.  See  JEneid,  Book  6th. 


THE   MINISTRY    OF    FLOWERS.         115 


THE    MINISTRY    OF   FLOWERS. 

FLOWERS  !  Flowers  !  the  poetry  of  eHrth, 

Impulsive,  pure,  and  wild;        :  *•  » 
With  what  a  strange  delight  they  fill 

The  wandering,  mirthful  child  ; 
It  clasps  their  leaflets  close  a  while, 

Then  strews  them  wide  around ; 
For  life  hath  «nany  a  joy  to  spare 

Along  its  opening  bound. 

The  maiden  twines  them  in  her  hair, 

And,  'mid  that  shining  braid, 
How  fair  the  violet's  eye  of  blue, 

And  the  faint  rose-bud's  shade, 
Upon  her  polish'd  neck  they  blush, 

In  her  soft  hand  they  shine, 
And  better  crown  those  peerless  charms 

Than  all  Golconda's  mine. 


116  VOICE    OP    FLOWERS. 

Above  the  floating  bridal  veil 

The  white  Camella  rears 
Its  innocent  and  tranquil  eye, 

To  calm  young  beauty's  fears, 
And  when  her  hoary  age  recalls 

The  memories  of  that  hour, 
Blent  with  the  heaven-recorded  vow 

Will  gleam  that  stainless  flower. 

The  matron  fills  her  chrystal  vase 

With  gems  that  Summer  lends, 
Or  groups  them  round  the  festal  board 

To  greet  her  welcome  friends, 
Her  husband's  eye  is  on  the  skill 

With  which  she  decks  his  bower, 
And  dearer  is  his  praise  to  her 

Than  earth's  most  precious  flower. 


Frail  gifts  we  call  them,  prone  to  fade 

Ere  the  brief  spring  is  o'er, 
Though  down  the  smitten  strong  man  falls, 

Returning  never  more. 
Time  wears  away  the  arch  of  rock, 

And  rends  the  ancient  throne, 
Yet  back  they  come,  unchang'd,  as  when 

On  Eden's  breast  they  shone. 


THE    MINISTRY    OF    FLOWERS.         117 

How  passing  beautiful  they  are, 

On  youth's  unclouded  plain, 
And  yet  we  scarcely  know  their  worth 

Till  life  is  on  its  wane, 
Then  grows  their  love  a  deeper  thing, 

As  our  lone  path-way  tends 
Down  'mid  the  withering  plants  of  hope, 

And  graves  of  buried  friends. 

Like  ready  comforters,  they  bend, 

If  sorrow  pales  the  cheek, 
And  to  the  sad,  desponding  heart 

An  angel's  message  speak, 
While,  to  the  listening  mourner's  ear, 

They  fondly  seem  to  say 
The  words  of  those  departed  ones, 

Who  sleep  in  mouldering  clay. 


We  nurse  them  in  our  casement  warm, 

WTien  Winter  rules  the  year, 
And  see  them  raise  their  graceful  form, 

The  darkest  day  to  cheer  ; 
Within  our  coffin-lid  they  glow, 

When  death  hath  had  his  will, 
And  o'er  our  pillow  in  the  dust 

They  bend  and  blossom  still. 


118 


VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


Yes,  o'er  our  cradle-bed  they  creep, 

With  rich  and  sweet  perfume, 
Around  the  marriage  altar  twine, 

And  cheer  the  darksome  tomb ; 
They  whisper  to  the  faithful  dead 

With  their  fresh,  vernal  breath, 
That  such  his  rising  hour  shall  be, 

Through  Him,  who  conquer'd  death. 


THE    WINTER   BOUQUET.  119 


THE     WINTER     BOUQUET. 

FLOWERS  !  fresh  flowers,  with  your  fragrance 

free, 

Have  ye  come  in  your  queenly  robes  to  me  ? 
Me  have  ye  sought  from  your  far  retreat, 
With  your  greeting  lips,  and  your  dewy  feet ; 
And  the  upward  glance  of  your  radiant  eye, 
Like  angel  guests  from  a  purer  sky  ? 

But  where  did  ye  hide  when  the  frost  drew 

near, 
And  your  many  sisters  were  blanched  with 

fear? 

Where  did  ye  hide  ?  with  a  blush  as  bright 
As  ye  wore  amid  Eden's  vales  of  light, 
Ere  the  wile  of  the  Tempter  its  bliss  had 

shamed, 
Or  the  terrible  sword  o'er  its  gate-way  flam'd. 


120 


VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 


Flowers,  sweet  flowers,  with  your  words  of 

cheer, 

Thanks  to  the  friend  who  hath  sent  you  here. 
For  this,  may  her  blossoms  of  varied  dye 
Be  the  fairest  and  first  'neath  a  vernal  sky ; 
And  she  be  led,  by  their  whispered  lore, 
To  the  love  of  that  land  where  they  fade  no 

more. 


FAREWELL   TO   THE    FLOWERS.        121 


FAREWELL    TO    THE    FLOWERS. 


Go  to  your  peaceful  rest, 

Friends  of  a  brighter  hour, 
Jewels  on  youthful  beauty's  breast, 

Lights  of  the  hall  and  bower. 
Well  have  ye  done  your  part, 

Fair  children  of  the  sky, 
We  '11  keep  your  memory  in  our  heart, 

When  low  in  dust  ye  lie. 

Your  gladness  in  our  joy, 

Your  smile  beside  our  way, 
Your  gentle  service  round  the  bed 

Of  sickness  arid  decay, 
Your  rainbow  on  the  cloud, 

Your  sympathy  in  pain  ; 
We  '11  keep  the  memory  of  your  deeds 

Until  we  meet  again. 


122  VOICE    OF    FLOWERS. 

Rest,  from  the  blush  of  love  ; 

Rest,  from  the  blight  of  care, 
From  the  sweet  nursing  of  your  buds, 

And  from  the  nipping  air  ; 
Rest,  from  the  fever-thirst 

Of  summer's  noontide  heat, 
From  coiling  worm,  and  rifling  hand, 

That  vex'd  your  lone  retreat. 


If  e'er  ye  thrilled  with  pride, 

When  the  admirer  knelt, 
Or  on  the  lowly  look'd  with  scorn, 

Which  man  for  man  hath  felt, 
If  through  your  bosoms  pure 

Hath  aught  like  evil  flow'd, 
(Since  folly  may  with  angels  dwell,) 

Rest  from  that  painful  load. 

But  not  with  grief  or  fear, 

Bow  down  the  drooping  head ; 
See  !  in  the  chamber  of  your  birth 

Your  dying  couch  is  spread; 
Go  !  strong  in  faith,  ye  flowers  ; 

Strong  in  your  guileless  trust, 
With  the  returning  birds,  to  rise 

Above  imprisoning  dust. 


FAREWELL   TO    THE    FLOWERS.        123 

Hear  we  a  whisper  low, 

From  withering  leaf  and  bell  ? 
"  Our  life  hath  been  a  dream  of  love, 

In  garden,  or  in  dell ; 
Yet  wintry  sleep  we  hail, 

And,  till  the  trump  shall  swell, 
To  wake  us  on  the  vernal  morn, 

Sweet  friends,  a  sweet  farewell!" 


GLOSSARY 


OF  FLOWERS  MENTIONED  IN  THIS 
VOLUME. 


ACACIA, Concealed  love. 

Almond, Hope. 

Amaranth, Immortality. 

Amaryllis, Beautiful,  but  timid. 

Anemone, Anticipation. 

Aspen, Tenderness. 

Aster, Love  of  variety. 

Bluebell, Health. 

Box, Constancy. 

Buttercup, Riches. 

Cactus  Speciosissimus, .    Perfect  beauty. 

Calla, Magnificent  beauty. 

Camella, Unpretending  excellence. 

Carnation, Pride  and  beauty. 

Cereus, Long  life. 

Chamomile, Energy  in  adversity. 

Chrysanthemum,  ...     A  heart  left  to  desolation. 

Clematis, Mental  beauty. 

Columbine,      ....    Desertion. 

Convolves,      .    .    .    .  Worth  sustained  by  affec- 

Cowslip Winning  Grace. 

Coxcomb, Fashion. 

Crown  Imperial,  .    .    .    Pride  of  riches. 
Cypress, Despair. 


GLOSSARY. 

Daffodil, Uncertainty. 

Dahlia, Elegance  and  beauty. 

Daisy, Beauty  and  innocence. 

Daisy,  Mountain,  .     .     .  Meek  loveliness. 
Dandelion, Coquetry. 

Eglantine, I  wound  to  heal. 

Fleur  de  lis,     ....    Aristocracy. 
Flowering  Bean,    .     .     .  Industry. 
Forget-me-not,      .    .    .    True  love. 
Fox-Glove, Insincerity. 

Geranium, Gentility. 

Geranium,  Rose,    .    .    .  Preference. 

Gladiolis, Martial  taste. 

Grape, Mirth. 

Hackmetack,   ....    Single  blessedness. 

Hare-Bell, Grief. 

Hawthorn, Hope. 

Heliotrope, Devotion. 

Holly, Domestic  happiness. 

Hollyhock, Ambition. 

Honeysuckle,   ....     Fidelity. 
Honeysuckle,  Trumpet,  .  Inconstancy. 

Hyacinth, Friendship  in  adversity 

Hydrangia, Heartlessness. 

Ice-Plant, An  old  beau. 

Iris, My  compliments. 

Ivy, Wedded  love. 

Jessamine, Amiability. 

T         -i  I  desire  a  return  of  affec- 

Jon(lul1' tion. 

JLady's-Slipper, ....  Capricious  beauty. 
Larkspur, Haughtiness. 


GLOSSARY. 

Laurel, I  change  but  in  dying. 

Lilac,  Persian,     .    .    .    An  accomplished  traveller. 
Lilac,  Purple,    ....  Fastidiousness. 
Lilac,  White,  ....    Youthful  innocence. 

Lily,  White Purity  and  beauty. 

Lily  of  the  Valley,   .     .    Delicate  simplicity. 

Lobelia, Malevolence. 

London-Pride,      .     .     .     Frivolity. 
Lupine, Dejection. 

Maple, Reserve. 

Marigold, Jealousy. 

Mignionette,    ....    Yo^rj^rtues  surpass  your 

Mimosa, Sensitiveness. 

Misletoe, Superstition. 

Monk's-Hood,    ....  Deceit. 
Mourning  Widow,    .     .    Bereavement. 
Myrtle, Love  in  absence. 

Narcissus Self-love. 

Nightshade, Dark  thoughts. 

Oleander, Beware ! 

Olive, Peace. 

Pansy, Pleasant  thoughts. 

Pea,  Everlasting,    .     .     .  Wilt  thou  go  with  me? 
Pea,  Sweet,      ....    Departure. 

Pink, Woman's  love. 

Piony, Anger. 

Polyanthus, Confidence. 

Poppy,  Red,     ....    Evanescent  pleasure. 
Poppy,  White,  ....  Consolation. 
Primrose, Modest  worth. 

Ragged  Lady,    ....  Bad  housekeeping. 

Rhododendron,     .     .     .     Majesty. 

Rose, Beauty  and  prosperity. 


GLOSSARY. 

Rose,  Cinnamon, .    .     .  Maternal  care. 

Rose,  Damask,  ....  Bashful  love. 

Rose,  Thornless,  .     .    .  Ingratitude. 

Rose,  Multiflora,    .     .     .  Grace. 

Rose,  Moss,      ....  Superior  merit. 

Rose,  Wild, Lightness. 

Rose-bud,  Moss,   .     .     .  Confession. 

Rose-bud,  White,  .     .     .  Too  young  to  love. 

Sage, Domestic  virtues. 

Snowball, Thoughts  of  Heaven. 

Soldier  in  Green, .     .     .    Undying  hope. 

Spruce, Integrity. 

Sunflower, Lofty  thoughts. 

Sweet-Briar,      ....  Simplicity. 
Sweet- William,   ...     A  smile. 

Thistle, Misanthropy. 

Tulip, A  declaration  of  love. 

Venus's  Fly-Trap,      .     .  Artifice. 

Verbena, Sensibility. 

Violet, Modesty. 

Water-Lily,     ....    Purity  of  heart. 

Wax-Berry, Confiding  trust. 

Willow,  Weeping,    .     .    Forsaken  love. 
Woodbine, Fraternal  love. 


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